


if we never risk, we'll never know

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Confessions, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Human!thirteen, Whump, Youtuber AU, actor!bill, model!rose, nb!ten, photographer!yaz, thasmin, travel vloggers au??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 90,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: Dennie is halfway through a rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody with Bill — blonde hair catching at her sunglasses and billowing past the open window in swathes —  when Yaz takes her opportunity.Unsheathing her camera from her rucksack, she uncaps the lens and captures Dennie’s open joy in motion. She’s beautiful like this, pearly whites ever-present and set against lips which refuse to let up from a breezy, youthful grin.There’s no wonder she has so many avid followers — it’s as though every shot, every moving image; every moment with Dennie is sunshine personified.
Relationships: Bill Potts/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 222
Kudos: 226





	1. the fall

**Author's Note:**

> tw: blood/injuries

_ dennie the menace [2:43AM] _ **_:_ ** _ guys  _

_ dennie the menace [2:43AM] _ **_:_ ** _ fam _

_ dennie the menace [2:44AM] _ **_:_ ** _ FAM _

_ dennie the menace [2:45AM] _ **_:_ ** _ i know you’re all awake  _

_ bill [2:50AM]: creepy but go off _

_ yaz [2:50AM]: whassup _

_ dennie the menace [2:51AM]: hi yaz  _

_ bill [2:51AM]: wow _

_ clara [2:52AM]: dw baby i got u 😘 _

_ yaz [2:53AM]: gross  _

_ bill [2:53AM]: 😍❤ _

_ yaz [2:53AM]: n e ways, whats with the summoning dennie  _

_ dennie the menace [2:55AM]: i found something  _

_ bill [2:55AM]: the clitoris _

_ dennie the menace [2:55AM]: SHUT UI NO _

_ dennie the menace [2:55AM]: up _

_ clara [2:55AM]: ui _

_ bill [2:56AM]: ui _

_ yaz [2:56AM]: guys leave her alone _

_ dennie the menace [2:57AM]: thx yaz. i actually found the next place for us to explore. its an abandoned hotel w / a pool n everything. looks pretty intact too. up for it fam? _

_ yaz [2:57AM]: YES im so up  _

_ dennie the menace [2:58AM]: bill? clara? wanna come? _

_ bill [3:00AM]: hmmm _

_ clara [3:00AM]: im in! cmon bill it’ll be fun !! _

_ bill [3:00AM]: ok im in _

_ yaz [3:01AM]: whipped  _

_ dennie the menace [3:01AM]: great ill leave to pick you all up at… 7? _

_ bill [3:02AM]: ….  _

_ bill [3:02AM]: u better mean 7pm _

_ dennie the menace [3:03AM]: : ) _

_ dennie the menace [3:03AM]: get some sleep and ill see u bright and early fam !!!  _

_ yaz [3:04AM]: night dennie <3  _

_ dennie the menace [3:05AM]: night yaz !!!! 🍑 _

_ bill [3:05AM]: for the last time thats a peach not a heart _

_ dennie the menace [3:06AM]: i love peaches ? _

_ clara [3:06AM] thats not what she m _

_ clara [3:06AM]: nvm _

_ clara [3:07AM]: see u guys tomorrow ! gn _

_ bill [3:09AM]: night _

_ dennie the menace [3:13AM]: hold on did someone change my name on here _

_ dennie the menace [3:13AM]: how do i change it back  _

_ dennie the menace [3:13AM]: guys??? _

_ dennie the menace [3:15AM]: fam? _

_ dennie the menace [3:16AM]: : ( _

_ dennie the brilliant [3:33AM]: nvm i got it : )) _

* * *

_ dennie the brilliant [7:45AM]: wakey wakey yaz! we’ve just pulled up outside! x  _

_ bill [7:45AM]: how come i never get kisses?  _

_ dennie the brilliant [7:46AM]: bill you just farted on my backseat and blamed it on your imaginary friend.  _

_ bill [7:46AM]: point taken _

“Your girlfriend’s outside,” Sonya mumbles on her way from the kitchen, a mug of coffee more akin to a bowl settled in her palms. She moves to lean lazily in her bedroom doorway with her head tilted, watching as Yaz packs up the last remaining accessories for her camera and grants her phone screen a bemused laugh

Tugging a hoodie over her head, followed by her trusty leather jacket, Yaz slings her rucksack over her shoulder and startles when she picks up on her sister’s presence, bracing a hand against her thumping chest. “Sonya! When did you start waking up before twelve?”

“And since when did  _ you _ start sneaking about so early in the morning?” her sister retorts, taking a lengthy sip and hissing when it burns her tongue. In answer to Yaz’s question, she shrugs her shoulder. “Got a uni assignment to write. Your girlfriend’s waiting for you.” 

Arching a brow, Yaz puts on her best authoritative look, ignoring the impatient chimes of her mobile in her pocket and her sister’s inability to stop calling her best friend anything closer than that. “It’s due tomorrow, isn’t it?” she probes, folding her arms. “And you haven’t started it yet, I bet.”

Sonya can’t lie to save her life, proven in the huff of air through her lungs and her averted gaze. “ _ Listen _ — just don’t tell mum I’m slacking next time we call home, okay?” 

“If I don’t tell mum, you have to stop calling Dennie my girlfriend,” Yaz proposes, offering up a hand to shake, fingers wriggling. “C’mon, it’s a fair deal.”

“Fine,” Sonya agrees, giving her hand a firm shake before pulling back. She follows when Yaz pads from the room and towards the door to their flat. “Where are you even going?”

“Out to film some videos — y’know, the usual,” Yaz supplies, tucking a hand into her pocket to check she has her keys before opening the door. “I’ll be back this evening.”

“That didn’t answer my question, Yaz,” Sonya chides, but it’s laced with concern over teasing this time. “Just let me know where you are? Just a simple text? It’s really not difficult.” 

“ _ Fine,”  _ Yaz breathes, caught between the need for independence wherever she can get it and the reluctance to let her sister worry about her until she’s home safe again. “Now go and do your work.” 

“Good, ‘cause if you don’t, I’m telling Jayden — 

“It’s  _ Dennie _ —” 

“ — that you’ve had a big fat crush on her since you first met.”

“Oh my God,” Yaz nudges open the door, stepping through. “I hate you.” 

“You too, sis. See you later — unless that tin can of hers finally gives out.”

“Laters.” Yaz throws a glare over her shoulder on the way out, before hiking her bag higher over her shoulder and striding confidently towards the lift. 

Bill and Clara are already seated in the old, weathered blue and white VW camper — nicknamed the TARDIS for reasons unknown — when Yaz joins them, slipping into the empty passenger seat to a chorus of petty arguing. 

“Morning, Yaz,” Dennie chimes between bites at a groggy-looking Bill, granting her a familiar warm grin only she ever gets to see the full affection of. 

“Morning,” Yaz breathes, taking in her best friend’s ripped jeans and her usual rainbow-emblazoned t-shirt and rainbow converse combo while she glares at their curly-haired friend. She turns before she can get distracted by the blonde’s pale but toned forearms. “What are you guys arguing about today?” 

“Dennie wants to play Coldplay on the AUX but I want to listen to Beyonce,” Bill grumbles petulantly from the back, arms folded, frown set firmly in place. Yaz glances to Clara, next, who just shoots her a bemused shrug. 

“Well, if neither of you are willing to sacrifice,  _ I’m _ choosing,” Yaz instructs in her most assertive tone, plucking her phone from her pocket and linking it up to the centre console of the van. In the driver’s seat beside her, Dennie gawps, lips parted and eyes wide as though someone just snatched a fresh ice cream cone in midsummer heat out of her very hands. 

“Nice one, Yaz,” Clara enthuses from the back, dropping her hand to her crestfallen girlfriend’s knee and squeezing. “You did what had to be done.” 

The Arctic Monkeys only partly drowns out the deep rumble of the engine when Dennie starts up the TARDIS and pulls away from the kerb. Wheeling down her window, Dennie plucks a pair of circular, black-rimmed sunglasses from the hem of her top and settles them on the bridge of her nose. 

“Now  _ that _ has been dealt with,” she starts, resting an elbow on the window ledge. “You guys ready for an adventure?”

In unison, all three give an anticipatory cheer, Dennie’s enthusiasm still infectious even after six years of solid friendship. 

Taking her queue, Yaz digs her camera from her bag and fixes her standard lens on with a twist and a  _ click _ . The microphone is clipped on next, and she sits back against the door to get the best angle. 

Turning her wrist, she seeks out Dennie’s right hand tapping restlessly against the door and the way her whole form begins radiating excitement. 

“So, how much do you know about the place we’re headed to today, Dennie?” Yaz prompts as she presses the red button set to record, earning a bright, praising grin. 

Dennie shifts in her seat, buzzing with energy. She glances towards the camera like a natural when they pull up to a red light. “Today, guys and gals and non-binary pals, we’re going to the  _ abandoned _ Voyager Hotel, just outside of Sheffield, which has sat empty for approximately five years and remains practically untouched — so I’ve heard.” 

“S’it haunted?” Bill quips from the back, and Yaz turns smoothly and readily on reflex. 

“I didn’t get to that bit,” Dennie admits, nose scrunching in a fashion Yaz can never resist grinning at. “Got a bit too excited about the  _ untouched _ bit, to be honest. Oh! And the swimming pool. I  _ love _ an abandoned swimming pool.” 

“Hang on, did you say the  _ Voyager Hotel? _ ” Clara queries from under her bucket hat, toying at a fraying thread on her borrowed denim jacket. Bill’s name is customised to the breast pocket. 

Dennie glances back, blonde hair billowing over her face with the breeze coming in through the window. “Yeah. Why?” 

Clara’s brow knits and Bill follows the movement. “I think I’ve been there, back when I was little. It’s really posh, Dennie. And it’s  _ huge. _ Like — the Callaghan lecture theatre, back at uni — sized huge.” 

“Clara, you’ve always been little,” Bill whispers below her breath, earning a jab to the elbow from the surprisingly powerful petite brunette. 

Yaz switches back when the woman next to her — a grown woman —  _ squeals _ with the new information. “Seriously? Oh my God, this is gonna be  _ ace.” _

Yaz’s responding laugh catches Dennie’s attention and she bares pearly whites her way. “How long till we get there, Dennie?”

“Well,” the blonde starts, glancing at the mobile set up against the dashboard and the moving map it displays, “Provided the satellites are working in our favour, it should be less than an hour.” 

“So… about two hours?” Yaz teases at the expense of her best friend, knowing all too well the complicated, unbalanced relationship between Dennie and her questionable navigation skills. 

“Ooh, nice one, Yaz,” Bill jeers from the back, sneaking in a quick high five. 

“Wow,” Dennie drawls to the camera, letting out a low whistle which coaxes a snigger from the camerawoman in the passenger seat. “You know what? I could just turn my phone off and find my way there myse—”

“No!” all three cry in unison and Yaz has the speedy reflexes to zoom in on Dennie’s shocked expression just in time. Her subscribers are going to  _ love _ that. 

“Your lack of faith in me is troubling. When have I ever made a mistake before?” Dennie complains with an exaggerated pout and big, sad eyes which twinge uncomfortably at Yaz’s chest. 

“You licked a rock on the side of the track once — in the  _ middle of the outback _ — to try and figure out where we were,” Bill supplies, her tone deadpan. “And there was a Taipan snake under those rocks which could’ve killed you in one bite.” 

“Ah,” Dennie interrupts, nodding her head matter-of-factly. “But it  _ didn’t _ bite me, did it?  _ And  _ I got us back safe _. _ ” 

Bill lifts her brows, smirking. “After two dodgy petrol stations and an accident with a cactus, yeah.”

“Listen, I was  _ busting  _ for a pee, I wasn’t looking where I was sit—” 

Yaz clears her throat  _ loudly _ . “Dennie, you’re gonna get demonetised if you continue that sentence.”

“Oops. Sorry, folks.” 

“And there was the time you filled up the van with diesel rather than petrol and we broke down on the highway on route sixty-six,” Bill lists, counting on her fingers. “And when you decided to dye your hair and cut your fringe the day before we caught a plane and we missed the flight because you looked nothing like your passport photo — then, when we got there, you crashed the rental into another car before we even left the car park.”

“Okay, okay,  _ fine _ — don’t go on about it,” Dennie huffs, baring the camera a guilty look. “Now, are we stopping for coffee and snacks before we get there? Because I could  _ kill _ for some biscuits right now.” 

Yaz cuts the camera off with a click, capping the lens and stifling a yawn. “Coffee sounds good.” 

“Probably down to  _ someone _ keeping us awake ‘till half three this morning.”

“You won’t be complaining when you see this place, Bill,” Dennie sing-songs, nonplussed, as she pulls the worn down camper into the services. “It’s going to be brilliant.”

While Bill drags Clara off to find some food pertaining to breakfast, Yaz slinks towards the coffee stall with Dennie, although it’s more like having an excitable, yapping golden retriever puppy at her heels. 

“... And apparently all the rooms are perfectly made up, Yaz; you’re gonna be in your  _ element _ ,” Dennie rambles enthusiastically from her side in the queue, scooping up a chocolate bar from the counter and eyeing the drinks options even while she talks a mile a minute. “Did you bring enough batteries? And your charger? This is going to be our best find in years.”

“I’ve got it all, Dennie,” Yaz chuckles under her best friend’s genuinely questioning stare, shuffling along in line. “And d’you really reckon so?”

“I  _ know  _ so,” the blonde asserts, hazel eyes wide with earnest. “I think it might even be a bigger find than the Northpark orphanage.”

Yaz watches her quell a shiver and stifles a snort. “That place still gives you the heebie-jeebies, doesn’t it?”

“I still have nightmares about all those dolls, Yaz; no lie,” Dennie divulges in a serious tone, nodding as though stuck in the memory. With a shake of her head and her messy blonde hair, she beams. “Are you excited? Because I’m  _ really _ excited.”

Yaz would be mean to deny her a grin, so she gives in. “I’m  _ properly _ ex—” 

“Wait — are you two part of the  _ Idiots Roaming _ ?” the barista blurts when Yaz reaches the counter, startling them both out from their bubble and drop-kicking them back into the present. “Oh my  _ God _ , you’re Yasmin Khan — you shoot the videos.”

As though realising where she is, the redhead cringes and averts her gaze. “Sorry — um — I mean — can I take your order?” 

Dennie is the first to put her at ease, offering up a grin so big it makes the young woman blanch and giggle. “We are, yeah.”

Yaz nods in turn and reaches for a sachet of sugar. “Can I just get a black coffee, please?” she requests politely when the girl’s gaze drifts back to her as if she knows something they don’t. 

“Are you a fan, then?” Dennie prompts in genuine intrigue, cheeks a rosy hue. She’s always the most confident in the group, but when it comes to people recognising them, she reverts to a bashful teenager. 

“I’ve been watching your videos since I can remember,” the girl admits with wide eyes, working on Yaz’s beverage while they converse. “Back when you used to do those thumb sketches.”

Yaz’s lilting chuckle makes Dennie’s ears flush red and she nudges at her elbow gently. “I knew those videos would get dredged up someday, Den.”

The young girl catches onto her teasing with a chuckle of her own, handing over a paper takeaway cup after settling the plastic lid in place. 

“Thank you —”

“Oh! Amy — Amy Pond,” the barista replies politely, blinking through a haze. If Yaz had a bigger ego, she’d say she was starstruck. “Um — anything else for you, miss?” 

“No, that’s perfect, thank you,” Yaz steps aside once she’s exchanged a couple of coins in payment, inviting the blonde forward. 

“Great name, by the way. Very fairytale,” Dennie murmurs aloud, scanning the chalkboard above Amy’s head and missing the delighted grin she receives for her compliment. “Can I get  _ this _ very delicious chocolate bar and —  _ hmm —  _ a hot chocolate? Oh! With extra marshmallows. Do you have chocolate sprinkles, too?”

When Amy looks to Yaz as if asking a mother for approval of their child’s order, she simply shoots a bemused smile her way. 

“A hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles, coming right up,” Amy declares, getting to work. 

When Dennie next looks her way, her nose scrunches in confusion under Yaz’s disapproving glare. “What?”

“I’m just wondering how on Earth you haven’t got diabetes yet,” Yaz comments, arching a slim brow and forcing a chuckle from the blonde’s lips.

Tucking her chocolate into her back pocket, she fishes out her threadbare leather wallet and plucks free a note. “Sorry, miss ‘I go to the gym three times a week even though I’ve already got women falling at my feet anyway’.”

“I do  _ not _ —” 

“One hot chocolate,” Amy quips shyly, nudging the cup over and glancing between them as though committing the sight to memory. 

“Brilliant, thanks, Amy,” Dennie pushes a note forward and rolls a shoulder in a shrug. “Keep the change and have a really great day. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too — oh my  _ God _ , my mates are never going to believe this,” Amy replies, returning Dennie’s goofy wave when they turn to leave. 

“What took you so long?” Bill mumbles through a mouthful of sandwich while Clara chatters away on the phone a few feet away. 

Yaz slips into the passenger seat but keeps the door propped open to revel in the morning sunshine. “Dennie wanted a drink of pure sugar and we bumped into a fan so we got talking.”

“S’really good,” Dennie hums around a sip of the hot drink, cream just millimetres from the tip of her nose. “Got extra marshmallows too. Kinda regretting getting a hot drink now, though.” Pointedly, she slips her sunglasses on, nudging them upwards with her nose. “Who’s Clara talking to?” 

“A publisher,” Bill replies, settling on the edge of the floor in the shadow of the side door. “Must be big, because she squeaked at me and ran out here to answer it. Almost got tackled by security for leaving without paying for her stuff.” 

“It’s okay, they’d probably just give her a kid’s sentence once they saw how small she was,” Dennie supplies with a shrug, earning a snort from Yaz and a piercing glare from Bill. “Talking of the devil,” she adds when Clara comes ambling over, red plaid trousers rolled up over maroon doc martens. 

“Sorry about that,” she starts apologetically, climbing into the van to fill up the space beside her girlfriend. “Couldn’t miss that call for  _ anything _ .”

“So? Is it good news?” Yaz pries, swallowing down a sip of coffee and turning in her seat. Her boot nudges Dennie’s hip where she’s standing beside the way, but instead of shuffling away, the blonde simply toys at the sock rolled above it, fingers brushing bare shin when she finds the edge. 

Her cheeks warm in the sun, but its rays are not to blame. 

“The best news, actually,” Clara divulges, grin spreading, “They’ve agreed to publish my next book since the first one went down so well.” 

“Clara, that’s  _ ace _ !” Dennie cheers instantly. Two steps land before she sweeps in for a one-armed hug which leaves Bill narrowly dodging hot chocolate to the face. 

“Congratulations, Clara,” Yaz calls over her headrest and shoots a beaming grin her way. “We knew you’d get there.” 

Clara leans into the brush of Bill’s lips against her cheek and the words she whispers into her ear a second later. Cheeks aflame, she bats at Bill’s hip and laughs.“Thanks, guys.”

“Drinks at mine this evening to celebrate?” Bill prompts, pulling herself up so she can slump into a brown leather seat when everyone moves to re-settle in the van. 

“Definitely, so long as there’s no balcony hopping this time,” Yaz agrees, watching Dennie wither in her peripheral. The car rumbles to life beneath her once more and with a satisfying sip of hot chocolate, the blonde straps herself in and sets off. 

Ten minutes in, Yaz turns the music up to the sound of Bill and Clara giggling to themselves. Peering at Dennie through her sunglasses, they share a look of mutual embarrassment before resolutely humming along to Yaz’s favourite playlist. 

By the time the road has woven into the rolling hills and pastures of the English countryside, the sun is upon them without the hindrance of clouds. 

Dennie is halfway through a rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody with Bill — blonde hair catching at her sunglasses and billowing past the open window in swathes — when Yaz takes her opportunity. 

Unsheathing her camera from her rucksack, she uncaps the lens and captures Dennie’s open joy in motion. She’s beautiful like this, Yaz has to admit, pearly whites ever-present and set against lips which refuse to let up from a breezy, youthful grin. 

There’s no wonder she has so many avid followers — it’s as though every shot, every moving image; every moment with Dennie is a sunshine personified. 

And Yaz is oh so lucky to have the honour to bottle it up and send it out for shipment. 

A dozen shutters of her lens later, Dennie glances her way. “How do I look?”

_ Happiness, defined.  _ “Could be worse, I suppose,” she murmurs instead, tongue caught between her teeth when she laughs at her pouting expense. 

“ _ Yasmin Khan, _ you little —” 

“Hey, tone it down, there’s a child in the backseat,” Yaz counters, drawing out a snort from the woman at her side and a grumble of annoyance from Clara. 

“I heard that.”

“Alright, fam, this is the closest we’re gonna be able to get without seeming suspicious, so the plan is that we’re parking up here and walking through the field ahead,” Dennie informs a short time later, drawing the ancient camper onto the side of the country road alongside a freshly flowing stream. It’s idyllic; trees lining each side of the road and guiding their path towards a red-brick building stood detached and solitary from the nearest village. 

“Want me to set up as we walk? So I can get some shots from the outside?” Yaz quips as she hops down from the passenger side, camera in hand. She hitches her bag over her shoulder and nudges the door closed before taking in the scenery. 

“Sounds good to me, Yaz.” Dennie nods, rounding to the side so she can fetch her bag from an empty backseat. She’s still bent over when Yaz pads around in a quick survey of belongings on show, and she barely conceals her amusement behind her palm. 

“Aw, man, no phone signal,” Bill sighs from somewhere behind her, where Clara sorts through her backpack for a pair of sunglasses. 

“Dennie?” Yaz interrupts her best friend’s efforts, clearing her throat to hide the laughter in her tone. “Dennie — um —” 

A blonde head pops up, her bag held triumphantly in hand “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Turn around again,” Yaz asks, twirling her finger in a circling motion. “I need to check something.”

“Wh— okay,” Dennie supplies with a weary tone, turning to face the boot of her van once more.

Yaz’s laughter isn’t so subtle this time, accompanied by Clara’s while Bill heads along the road to seek mobile service. 

“What? What is it?” Dennie turns, brows knitted and lips threatening to fall into a pout. “ _ Fam _ , c’mon.” 

“You — uh,” Yaz starts, biting her lip to keep any more laughter at bay. “I think you might’ve left that chocolate bar in your back pocket a bit too long, Den.” 

“Oh,” the blonde twists, searching for the inevitable brown stain on the back of her jeans. When she reaches back with her hand and only finds sticky residue, she grimaces through a groan. “ _ Oh.” _

Clara breaks before Yaz does, but as soon as they do, Dennie’s pout increases tenfold. “ _ Ha-ha _ , very funny. Now can you  _ please _ shut the door and let me change before Bill can s—” 

“Oh my  _ God,” _ Bill gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. Dennie whines petulantly. “Dennie, did you  _ shit _ yourself?”

A fresh pair of bottoms later, Dennie toes into her weathered, tan walking boots and joins the rest of the group. A pair of cropped skinny blue jeans hug her slim legs, a patch of rainbow-patterned material disguising a rip at the knee. 

Yaz’s camera is secured to her wrist with a patterned strap, and she lifts it in readiness to film. “You’re lucky I spotted that.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t keep your eyes up front, soldier,” Dennie quips in return, and Yaz’s cheeks instantly flare with heat. “Everyone ready to go?” 

Affirmation all-round, Dennie leads the way with Yaz closely in tow. She captures a shot of Bill and Clara’s linked hands as they start through the field, then lifts the lens towards her best friend. 

“So, apparently, this place served as a hotel, a huge family mansion,  _ and _ a zoo at one point,” Dennie starts as the camera rolls, taking long strides through knee-high grass. She appears to mull over her words, then, turning to Yaz with a scrunch of her nose. “Okay, I think that last one might’ve been fake information, but —  _ still  _ — anything’s a zoo if you try hard enough.”

“You should make that the title of the video,” Clara calls from a short distance behind them. 

“Bill?” Dennie quips, walking backwards to catch her attention. Yaz side-steps to capture the interaction smoothly. 

The dark-haired woman glances her way, her gaze questioning.“Yeah?” 

“The grass is getting higher up ahead. Make sure you don’t lose your tiny girlfriend.”

“ _ Ass—” _

“Recording!” Yaz interrupts sharply to a chorus of childish laughter. 

The red-brick building is imposing and expansive, balconies climbing up the right and left sections while the middle juts out further. The black double doors at the front are engraved with spirals and curves and the first two windows on the right have been obliterated. Ivy swallows up three-quarters of the mostly undisturbed structure. 

A three-metre fence surrounds the old hotel, robust and secure and the only thing standing between them. 

“According to my sources, there should be a hole in the fence just to the right of the main entrance,” Dennie divulges, scooping up a blade of grass at her feet and approaching the fence with the caution of a baby elephant. “I’ll do a quick double-check that it isn't electric, though, just in case.”

The image of burnt fingertips and blonde hair pulled taut like a cartoon flashes before Yaz’s eyes. 

Dennie turns to the camera just before she reaches the fused metal, encouraging Yaz over. “Hey, guys — so, if you want to check whether a fence is electrified — not that I’m encouraging it — but if you’re in the position where you have to, you just need a piece of grass which is at least longer than your index finger.” 

She presents the blade with an enthusiastic grin, then takes the last step toward the metal. “And you just have to let it rest over the surface, slowly,  _ slowly _ moving closer, until you can feel a pulsing sort of sensation. It should be — about —” She nudges the blade a touch closer, tense as though bracing for impact.  _ “— here _ , that you start to feel it.”

She’s so lost in educating her audience that when something brushes against her hand and hisses, she jumps hard enough to land on her backside. 

From the other side of the fence, Bill clutches at her sides. “Oh my God, your  _ face.” _

Dennie scrambles to her feet with a helping hand from Yaz, who stifles her laughter to save her best friend’s red cheeks. “Wh— but — how did you—” 

“Circuit’s busted, Den,” Clara points out, appearing at Bill’s side. “It’s right beside you.”

“Huh.” Dennie breathes, hands on her hips and dignity only barely intact as she spots the open electric box to her left, wires torn. “Wait — how did you two get through?”

“The hole is just behind the pillar, mate,” Bill points out, “It’s a bit of a squeeze.”

Yaz follows after the blonde as she jogs around to the gap in the fence, immediately crouching to shuffle through, gangly limbs galore. “Y’know, you should probably take your bag off before you climb under the —” 

A grunt. The scratch of metal against polyester. 

“Yaz, I’m stuck.”

Yaz sighs, keeping the camera rolling as she moves to help. 

A grand staircase, its rich red furnishing and the open reception area adjacent to the entrance renders all four speechless the instant they slip inside through a shattered window.

To their right, still meticulously labelled, is the dining room and bar, while the left leads towards the great ballroom. Decay chips away at the painted walls but, other than a few upturned chairs and a thick layer of dust coating every available surface, this part of the building, at least, is in good shape. 

“This place is  _ insane _ , Dennie,” Yaz breathes, venturing towards the reception desk to focus in on the date detailed on a fraying newspaper. When she lifts it, a spider scampers free and she startles with a poorly-disguised yelp, tossing it aside again.

Jogging to her side on instinct, the blonde quells a laugh when she discovers what had caused her sudden squeak. “Might have to watch out for spiders, though.  _ Ooh _ , wait, that’s cool. Good find, Yaz.” 

Scooping the newspaper up, to study it, Dennie’s gaze aligns with the date. “Nineteen-ninety-five — I’m surprised it’s still so undisturbed. Maybe it’s our lucky day.”

“Oh, wow,” Bill’s voice carries from the dining room. When they turn, she’s pointing to a piece of phallic graffiti in the doorway. “Love their art installations.”

“You reckon it’s haunted, Clara?” Yaz probes as she ascends the first few steps of the grandiose staircase. The railings are twined with cobwebs and flecks of broken paint from the mosaic gracing the domed ceiling above, and she angles her camera to capture it in the natural light. “It seems pretty ancient. It’s bound to have its fair share of ghosts, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Clara concurs in a sing-song tone, leaning up on her toes to admire a painting of the hotel in its original form. “I read somewhere that a lady in white used to haunt the place.”

Dennie straightens up, wetting her lips. “ _ Used to _ ?”

Clara shrugs a shoulder. “I mean — there’s no telling whether she still does, but it’s likely.”

When Dennie takes in a sharp breath, hazel eyes scanning the room subtly but skittishly, Yaz knows she’s got her. 

“Guess we’re going to have to make sure we don’t disturb her,” Yaz imparts with a tap to Dennie’s elbow which makes the blonde jump.

Reaching into her bag, Clara retrieves a large torch from its depths and flicks it on. The building is darkened from the ivy clinging to the interior, so when the torch refuses to flicker to life, Clara lifts her gaze to eye the blonde. 

“I  _ swear _ I changed the batteries…” Dennie slumps against the bannister, brows knitted.   
  


Clara tries another handful of times, to no avail. “Are there any spare ones in the van?”

“Yes, definitely,” Dennie asserts, hands on her hips. “They’re in the glove box.”

“Right; Bill and I can head back to grab some while you guys have a nosey around upstairs?” she suggests to two nodding heads.

“Keys, Den?” Clara prompts once she’s summoned her girlfriend back, raising a hand when the blonde slips them from her pocket and casts them her way. “Thanks. We won’t be long.”

“Sounds good to me,” Yaz agrees, flitting her camera towards Dennie for a closeup. “Maybe the lady in white is playing tricks on us already.”

Hazel eyes widening and instinct drawing her a few steps closer to Yaz, Dennie quells a shiver. 

“C’mon, let’s see if we can find her,” Yaz teases when she seems suddenly apprehensive, but a squeeze to her shoulder and an enthusiastic grin is enough to snap her out of it. 

The blonde jogs up after her, taking particular interest in the knight statuette settled at a fork in the stairs. Her voice is sheepish, a hand rising to fiddle at the strap of her backpack. “You don’t  _ actually _ think there’s ghosts here, do you, Yaz?”

“ _ Yaz?” _

* * *

“Smooth work, babe,” Bill notes as she hops down from the window ledge and back into thick, untamed grass. “That torch isn’t even out of battery, is it?”

Flicking the button at the end of the cylindrical object, Clara smirks when the bulb flickers on at optimum brightness. She sinks into her girlfriend’s side with a laugh.“Nah. It worked, though — Dennie’s always dumb when Yaz is around.”

“They’re both as bad as each other,” Bill asserts, scuffing her foot against a piece of tile while they amble back through the field. “How long shall we leave them before they’re shagging in a haunted bed?”

“ _ Bill _ ,” Clara hisses as though the information is scandalous, but she can’t help her laughter when her girlfriend smirks at her, tongue caught between her teeth. “I think it’s sweet.”

“What — how oblivious they are?” Bill asks, pulling a face. “It’s  _ aging _ me. I’m literally going grey with stress.”

“Aw,” Clara croons, dragging the word out with a pinch to Bill’s cheek. “Bless.”

“Maybe I should force Dennie to look through the comments on the videos sometime.” Bill jogs forward to pluck a stick from the ground, using it to cut through the grass ahead. “Then  _ maybe _ we won’t have to wait so long for them to realise they like each other.”

“Just because you’re straightforward about these things, it doesn’t mean they are,” Clara reminds her gently, recalling their first interaction and the brisk  _ we’re going out for a drink sometime _ she’d been greeted with. “Yaz seems to be the oblivious one, anyway. Dennie can’t hide it even if she tried.”

“Shall we make a bet?” Bill proposes, eyes glinting with mirth, as they reach the end of the field. 

“Depends what it entails.” Clara reaches for Bill’s hand when she goes to pass in front of a tractor, shooting her a glare. 

“If they’re not snogging by the time we get back there, I’ll make you dinner every night this week. If they are, you have to,” she suggests, smirking at Clara’s aghast expression. “Deal?”

Pursing her lips, Clara unlocks the driver’s side door and draws it open, leaving her girlfriend hanging for as long as possible. “Only if you make me coffee every morning as well.”

“I can work with that.” 

Clara’s hand reaches out for shaking, but Bill drags her in for a kiss instead. 

“Deal,” she whispers into her mouth. 

They’re on their way back another twenty minutes later — a handful of batteries stashed in Clara’s bag and a pack of stolen custard cream in Bill’s — when a resounding  _ crash _ shakes the manor to its foundations. 

* * *

Two small rooms stacked with boxes full of ornaments and light fixtures and golf clubs and — an inflatable surfboard? — later, the bare floorboards in the hallway rise in volume. With each step, a chorus of old hinges and weathered wood protest and creak. 

“Hey! Yaz, check this out,” Dennie beckons from the next room along, leaving Yaz to finish up an ominous shot of the empty corridor and round the corner briskly. 

Before them, the sprawling hotel room is a shadow of the rest. Its walls and wood-panelled flooring has blackened with char and fire damage, the remnants of a bed sitting as rubble upon the metal coils of a former mattress. 

The adjoining en-suite is in tune with the charred remains, and Yaz crouches in the entranceway to take a photo of weeds growing from the foot of the half-melted tub. The glass from the large, arched window lays scattered over the floor nearby; feeding the only light in the darkened residence. 

“Guess this could explain why it closed?” Yaz guesses, snapping another shot when Dennie leans in the open window to take in the view. 

With a hum of agreement, Dennie lifts her gaze and twists to look up. “Seems like it spread into the next storey up.”

“Be careful, that window ledge doesn’t look too safe,” Yaz warns as she lowers the camera, reaching out to grasp at Dennie’s backpack. She pries her back just in time for the floorboards at her feet to splinter and fissure and creak in objection. 

“Nice save, Yaz,” Dennie chuckles, blowing a lock of blonde hair from her eyes and straightening with a dazed grin. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“Just — watch where you’re stepping, okay? This place is ancient.”

“Will do,” Dennie replies sheepishly, toeing into the doorway to allow Yaz more room to film. “Have you got any cool shots yet? Can I see?”

“Plenty,” Yaz quips, unable to hold back her enthusiasm for such a unique place to capture at the end of her lens. It’s not every day she can explore a place such as this. “You were right, earlier. This place properly hits the jackpot.”

There’s a faint flush to Dennie’s cheeks when Yaz peers up from behind her camera to send her a grateful smile, and she fidgets on the spot like a puppy praised before nodding clumsily towards the corridor. “I’m gonna — um — gonna go see if all the rooms are in the same condition as this. I’ll yell if I find anything interesting.”

“I know you will,” Yaz says more to herself than to her best mate, dragging her tripod free from the side pouch of her rucksack to get some steadier shots of the ivy seeping in from the window. 

“There must be a stairwell to the attic floor through here somewhere,” Dennie implores some time later, leading the way along a corridor littered with fading newspapers. They’re another storey up, winding between suites with the same standard getup. 

It appears, upon reaching the third level, that only the right side of the building is affected by fire damage. 

“Maybe it was a private residence up there? So it’s probably hidden behind a door along here.” As she walks, Yaz nudges each door open, camera-first in her exam of each room. “If it’s anything like the rest of the place, we could probably find some personal possessions up there which haven’t been disturbed.” 

“Yasmin Khan,” Dennie turns, walking backwards to sport a beaming grin. “You speak my language.” 

She’s still traipsing the wrong way around as they reach the end of the corridor, just to put her on edge, when Yaz decides to flip the tables. 

Feigning fright, she breathes a gasp which echoes through the corridor. “Wait — Dennie, don’t turn around.”

“Wh—” the blonde stops, half a step back, and swallows. “Why?” Anxious, she pulls her sleeves over her hands. “Yaz, what’s behind me?” 

“Just — just don’t turn around, whatever you do,” Yaz insists, stepping forward to let her lens refocus on the space behind her friend. 

“I can tell you’re just messing around, Yaz,” Dennie remarks once she’s close enough to see the flicker of amusement in Yaz’s pupils. “You’re such a bad liar.”

With a roll of her eyes, she turns. 

And  _ squeaks _ at the sight of an angel, wings spread, nails clawed, and eyes stone but seeing, centimetres from her face. 

Yaz’s laughter splits her sides, much to Dennie’s curse-fuelled chagrin.

The scene rolls on replay from Yaz’s camera through the next passage while Dennie trudges, pouting and humiliated, at her side. 

“Dennie?”

“Nope. Not talking to you.”

“Aw, come  _ on _ ,” Yaz turns the screen off and bumps shoulders with her long-time friend. “I’m sorry.”

Dennie tries her hardest to ignore her, but when a strong arm slinks around her own and squeezes, she can’t deny the way her features soften. “Gotcha.”

The spiral staircase is just off the main passageway, behind a blue door dissimilar from the red tones of the rest. 

Twisting the rusty brass handle and edging it open, Yaz isn’t surprised to find Dennie’s chin all but perched on her shoulder in an effort to take an excitable look. “Whoa. Bagsy going first.”

Cobwebs weave like motion sensors and laser beams around something precious on their way up, and bravely, Dennie peels them away before Yaz can cry her protest. It’s only three short curves up that the main suite comes into view, and, to twin gasps, the extent of the hotel’s preservation presents itself. 

“Holy shit,” Dennie whispers to the room, hopping up the last step and brushing a web from her shoulder. Before them, running the length of the ballroom below, is a plush, luxurious and untouched apartment. 

Undisturbed apart from spiders and a couple of shattered glass windows — down to weather and thin panes rather than vandalism, the apartment is furnished and cluttered as though the owners simply upped and left. Oak beams lay low overhead, the open-planned space giving way to retro kitchen cupboards and a purple, square sofa settled on a lower platform in the adjoining living room.

“A conversation pit!” Dennie enthuses as she pads over, a cloud of dust gathering flight around her when she jumps onto the faded sofa. “Haven’t seen one of these bad boys in  _ years _ . I’ve always wanted one at my place. A purple one just like this, too!”

The shutter of a rapidly working camera fills the room when Yaz gets to work, awestruck and fidgety in her excitement. “This is the best find we’ve ever had, Den.”

Lost in thought, Dennie sits up, lifting a pristine copy of  _ Beano _ from the coffee table in the middle and flicking through it. “You reckon we could carry this sofa down the stairwell?  _ Actually _ , thinking about it, probably not. Might have to get a trampoline set up outside, lob it out the window and hope for the best.”

“Dennie.” 

“I reckon it could survive the fall; seems sturdy en—” 

“ _ Jayden _ ,” Yaz hisses, camera off and tucked away, feet rooted to the spot. 

Dennie glances up from the comic with a frown. If she’s using her full name, it must be serious.

Dennie does not like serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Shh, just listen,” Yaz whispers, index finger raised to her lips. 

True to her word, when Dennie quietens, a low scratching echoes in from the open door the opposite side of the penthouse apartment. 

It doesn’t let up, and so, forcing her limbs back into action, Yaz steps towards the sound. 

Dennie peels away from the sofa and around to her side in an instant, keeping her footfalls light. 

“This isn’t another joke, is it?” she asks tentatively, a hint of hope lingering behind this time. 

Another scratch, and glass smashing. “Please tell me this is a joke, Yaz.”

“Not me this time, Dennie,” Yaz informs in a whisper, and she can  _ feel _ the way Dennie’s heart rate picks up as if it were inhabiting her very own chest. 

Careful, light footsteps protest at their feet despite their best efforts, and, shoulders hunched, Yaz takes a steadying inhale. 

The door is a metre away, and the bedroom beyond is crisp and singed with the aftereffects of flames and smoke.

The clawing continues. 

To the right upon entrance to the lodging, a clock sits, its face half-melted, above an artificial fireplace filled with soot. 

The clawing continues. 

Yaz steps inside, blackened wooden floorboards crying out underfoot. 

The clawing stops. 

“Yaz, I think it’s stopped,” Dennie whispers, breath hot on her neck. 

A scrape, coming from the other side of the bed’s carcass, next to the window and hidden by a large, fallen painting which is mostly ruined by streaks of black. Glass scatters the floor beside it, explaining the previous sound. 

“Maybe not.”

A hand slips into hers unnoticed, milky white against brown. 

Eyes narrowing, Yaz risks another half a step, and the sound ceases once more.

Then ramps up.

The hand in hers turns clammy, fingers trembling. 

There’s only so much space the being could take up, and it's definitely too small to be a person. 

The portrait shifts suddenly.

A hand at her elbow, clutching for dear life. 

“ _ Yaz _ .”

Its namesake holds her breath. Another foot forward. 

“Yaz, don’t —” 

A low coo, and the portrait falls forward. A flash of white and — 

Dennie yelps. 

A pigeon, startled, flaps its wings and squawks before landing on the sill. 

Eyes almost bulging, Yaz breathes out a shaky bark of laughter. “Oh my  _ God _ .”

“Yaz, it’s a pigeon,” Dennie breathes in disbelief, hunched over slightly to refill her lungs. The charred wood groans as she leans forward, louder this time. “It’s a  _ fucking  _ pigeon.” 

“We — we were terrified — of a  _ pigeon _ ,” Yaz croaks through laughter which brings tears to her eyes and an ache to her chest and only serves as encouragement to the blonde. 

When said pigeon flaps its wings again, aiming and missing the small opening in the cracked window once, twice, three times, Dennie sidles up carefully. “Sorry, buddy, we’re not laughing at you, I promise. Need some help?”

“Don’t think you can speak bird, Dennie,” Yaz scoffs, laughter dying down to the occasional muted giggle. Her hand is cool where it used to be warm and encircled, but it doesn’t fully click in her brain yet. 

“Maybe I do,” Dennie quips, cupping her palms as she closes in on the struggling bird. It’s relatively calm even when she suddenly clasps both hands around its sides. “You never know, Yaz.” 

Lifting it towards the top of the window, where the curtains shuffle in the light breeze, it coos faintly before taking flight in a flurry of flapping wings and short, swiping talons. “Bye, mate!”

When she turns back, taking note to avoid the board two steps away, Yaz is already beaming at her, a faint colour to her cheeks. 

“Everything o—” 

“You held my hand,” Yaz interrupts, voice lilting with breathlessness. “Just then, when we were — when we were walking in here.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Dennie reaches up, scratching a hand at the back of her neck, then adjusting the straps on her bag, then studying the charred remains of the wardrobe. There’s a pair of slippers, just decipherable enough, beside the door; once pink and fluffy. The left one still has the imprint of a foot, if she looks close enough. Size five, perhaps. “Sorry.” 

“No, you don’t —” Dennie glances up at her and Yaz has the audacity to blush. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“It was quite nice,” Yaz finishes. 

Dennie’s grin is incorrigible and a little cheeky when she takes one — two steps closer. “When you say that —” 

It all happens in slow motion after that. 

One moment, Dennie is standing there, beaming at her while her heart thumps in her throat, the next, she’s gone and so too are most of the floorboards. 

There’s a  _ crash _ which rattles the shell of the building and submits the window to another fissure, then a  _ slam,  _ like a solid weight hitting the deck below, then a  _ snap _ . 

She’s never heard a bone break before. 

Today is her unlucky day. 

Dennie. That was Dennie falling. That was Dennie’s breaking bone. 

When she looks down, through a thick cloud of dust, she finds her crumpled form the next level down. 

Her feet move without her knowledge, spiral staircase tackled in a quick scramble and two short leaps. 

She’s in the second room she barges into, heaving a groan as dust and rubble tumbles down around her. 

Yaz can’t bring herself to care for the risk of further collapse, skidding to a stop at the foot of a half- crumbled bed now lumbered with a layer of fissured wooden planks. 

“Jayden?  _ Jayden _ ,” Yaz splutters, crouching at her side to survey half-lidded hazel eyes and the arm clutched to her chest. Going by the odd bend to her elbow and the redness to her wrist, she doesn’t need a doctor to connect the snapping sound to its source. 

Dennie wets her lips, nose scrunching presumably at the fine layer of dust coating her from head-to-toe. There’s a gash gracing her eyebrow which weeps crimson when she blinks through a dizzy haze. “Did — did I fall?” 

Yaz’s laugh is croaky, moisture building in the corners of her eyes unbidden. She lifts a hand to Dennie’s cheek when she starts to move her head, breathing a gasp. “Wait — I don’t think you should move. That was quite a stunt. I — uh, I think you’ve broken your arm.”

“Oh,” Dennie falters, blinking down at the arm cradled unconsciously against herself. “Oh, that’s — that doesn’t look right. Can’t really feel it right now, gotta admit.”

“You’re going to,” Yaz notes teasingly, but it comes out a bit too teary to make it effective. “You’re in shock, Jayden.”

To her surprise, Dennie has the ability to huff despite the scenario. “Stop callin’ me that. It makes you sound too serious.”

“Um — this is pretty serious,” Yaz counters with a narrowed brow which makes her wilt, however stubborn she might be. 

Another subtle shift. Dennie hisses through her teeth. She’s never been one to stay still. “ _ Ow _ . Thought so.”

“Wait — what is it? Where’s the p —  _ ohshityourleg _ .”

“S’it bleeding? Please tell me it’s bleeding.”

“Why would you want — yes, fuck, there’s a fucking — uh— Dennie, I’m going to have to take that out.”

“Oh thank  _ god.  _ I thought I’d pissed myself.”

Yaz’s glare is piercing and damp and far too serious for Dennie’s liking. “Okay, sorry — I take that back — shit, now it’s hurting. Ah, what are you —  _ Yaz _ whyareyoutakingyourclothesoff.”

“Tourniquet,” Yaz whispers hoarsely, peeling her hoodie off and casting it aside. The hem of her t-shirt gives way beneath a harsh pull and a strip of material is fashioned into a knot around her upper thigh. She looks away as she tightens it, Dennie’s pained yelp enough of an indication without having to see the agony on her face as well. “Gotta stop the flow so you don’t bleed out when I take the glass out.”

Dennie fists a hand in her t-shirt as she rides a wave of discomfort, features tinged green by the time Yaz forces her gaze back. “Sorry. I’m so sorry, but I had to—” 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Dennie hisses, but there are tears pricking her eyes and Yaz’s chest aches afresh. “I’m fine.”

Brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, Yaz allows her a moment to recompose herself. Her wrist has started to swell already, and there’s still small pieces of rubble falling around them. She coughs against the cloud of dust rendering her throat dry and hovers a hand over her best friend’s broken arm. “Does it hurt?”

“Like a bitch,” Dennie whispers, letting her head roll back and clenching her jaw. “Solid thirteen out of ten.”

She’s never usually one to present her discomfort so plainly on display. Yaz swallows thickly. “Can you move your fingers at all?”

The blonde’s gaze returns to the oddly set limb and she knits her brows as she works through the pain. Her little finger twitches first, and the others follow. That’s a relief. 

“Good. That’s really good, Dennie,” Yaz praises, halting her movements with a hand to her shoulder. She can hear her sigh of relief. 

The graze to her eyebrow dribbles a slow stream to her jaw, then down her neck, and Yaz uses a spare patch of material to wipe it up. 

Distantly, she hears footsteps enter the building. 

It’s only when she nudges a plank of wood away that she fully takes in the thin shard of glass protruding from the muscle of her thigh, nausea making her falter. “Dennie, I’ve got to remove it.”

“Do you  _ have _ to?”

“You don’t know what kind of infections could already be in there. We’re not risking anymore,” Yaz informs her empathetically but insistently, her own nerves rising at the prospect of something so potentially fatal if conducted wrong. “This is serious, Jayden.”

The use of her full name is enough to make her falter, eyes dropping to her injured leg while she swallows down another bout of queasiness. “Fine, just — please be quick.”

“I’ll be as quick as possible, I promise.” Yaz reaches out, lifting her chin so she can seek out dazed hazel. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” Dennie murmurs without hesitation, something indecipherable in her softened gaze which Yaz packs up and saves for later. “Can you —” she hisses out a breath when Yaz’s hand comes to rest against her knee, muscles trembling with anxious anticipation and alerting her to the object still impaled in her leg. “Can you distract me?”

“Distract you?” Yaz echoes, sitting back on her haunches to map out the best way to go about the task. 

“Yeah, tell me a story, or something; get my mind off it,” Dennie croaks, dust thick on her tongue. “Please.”

“D’you remember —” Yaz starts, peeling the rest of her torn top off to use for extra pressure once the glass is removed. “D’you remember the first day of uni? Our first lecture together?” 

“French cinema, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, I think so.”

“With the lecturer who looked like Ed Sheeran?”

“Dennie, he looked  _ nothing like _ —” Yaz pauses, shaking her head in dismissal. “Yeah, him. You came in late because you were —” 

“Doing an experiment on the toaster all night,” Dennie finishes, gaze on the sizable hole in the ceiling, but eyes distant. “And I walked in, put my stuff down on the desk and —” 

“Immediately spilt a whole cup of coffee over your laptop,” Yaz laughs, coaxing a winded chuckle from her wounded friend. 

When Dennie grins, blood seeps down the side of her face once more. “Best day of my life.”

“You’re such a sap,” Yaz crows, forcing Dennie’s attention towards her. 

Eyeing her distinct lack of clothing up top other than a sports bra, she politely averts her gaze. The colour to her cheeks is a reassurance, not to mention endearing. “You’re not wearing a t-shirt.”

“Don’t see any towels nearby to help stop the bleeding once this is out,” Yaz crows playfully, fingers enclosing around the shard of glass and while her eyes refuse to stray from Dennie’s own. “It’s funny — this room still looks tidier than your dorm from the first year of uni.”

“Hey! It’s not  _ my _ fault they didn’t think through the designs of those places — where was I meant to film my videos? Or keep my rocket?” Dennie protests, using her uninjured hand to gesticulate. “Absolutely ridicu—  _ fuck! Ow,  _ **_ow_ ** _ , Yazwhatthefuck _ .”

The glass comes away quick, drawn from an angle which saved further tearing of creamy skin. The laceration is deep; deeper than Yaz had inspected, and she presses her scrunched up grey t-shirt to the bleeding wound as soon as the red-stained glass has been discarded with a clatter. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Yaz murmurs desperately when Dennie clutches at her knee just for something to hold onto, her grip iron-like. She writhes with the resulting pain, squirming against weathered floorboards and hissing through each jagged breath. “I’m sorry, I had to — Dennie.  _ Jayden _ , it’s out. It’s okay.”

Wordlessly, Dennie nods, squeezing her eyes shut and digging short nails into the material of Yaz’s jeans. Her expression is a little paler in shock, if a touch green.

Resettling her heaving lungs, Yaz peels the material away from the wound enough to find blood still seeping free in a steady flow. 

Pressing it back down, she reaches for the hand grasping at her knee and places it over the compression. “Dennie, listen, I need you to keep pressure on this while I call for help, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Didn’t like that,” Dennie hisses through pearly whites, swallowing back a heave but following her instructions anyway. She replaces Yaz’s hand while the other woman roots through her rucksack for her phone. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Yaz consoles, tossing her bag aside when she comes to the dread-filled conclusion that she’d left the device in her van — and she has no idea where the other two women have disappeared — 

“Yaz? Dennie? You guys up here? We heard a crash,” Clara’s voice echoes along the corridor, double footsteps confirming her girlfriend’s company. 

Yaz’s relieved laugh sounds weepy even to her. 

“We’re in room —” she glances to the open door and its rusted label, “thirteen!”

“If you guys are being indecent, I swear to — holy shit.” Bill’s the first one inside, stopping dead in her tracks. A hand flies to her mouth in time for Clara to bump into her back with a grunt.

Nudging past her and sweeping into the room, Clara’s eyes flit between the caved-in ceiling and Dennie’s crumpled form. “Oh my God,  _ Dennie _ .”

“Hiya,” Dennie croaks, letting out a gasp when she forgets about her broken arm and moves to wave. She resettles with a grunt, and Yaz notices the blood starting to trickle free from her thigh again.

Yaz sinks into her side to replace the weakened hand holding the bloodied material to her thigh. “Have either of you got your phones? We need an ambulance.” 

“Yaz, there’s no signal in this place,”

“There’s a village a ten minute drive away. Fifteen minutes if you’re a runner,” Dennie interrupts through a dry cough which burns her throat, turning her head with a wince. 

Taking initiative, Clara reaches for Dennie’s dusty rucksack and manoeuvres it below her head as a makeshift pillow. 

Then, all eyes fall on Bill. 

“Fifteen minutes?” she quips, “I can do that.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Clara adds, matter-of-factly, “I’ll see if I can find service any closer.”

Yaz nods, letting Bill dump her equipment at her side and take off down the corridor in a flurry. 

“You gonna be okay to keep her stable on your own?” Clara questions before she leaves, lingering in the doorway with a worried grimace. 

“We’ll be fine, just — be quick?” Yaz pleads, eyes on the paling nature of Dennie’s cheeks. Her next words are all but mouthed to save the blonde extra anxiety. “There’s — uh — there’s a lot of blood.” 

With an apprehensive nod, Clara plucks out her phone and holds it aloft. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

As soon as they leave, the tense, tedious quiet returns. 

Even the curtains have stopped flitting against the window frame in the morning breeze. 

Overhead, clouds appear, and cooler, tense air whispers in through the derelict suite. 

Yaz takes Dennie’s free hand when it starts to tremble; with pain or cold or fear, she’s not quite sure, and she laces their fingers. “Squeeze when it gets too painful, Dennie. And let me know how you’re doing. Do you need anything?” 

Dennie swallows against her dry throat, hazel eyes scanning the open ceiling and whatever she can see of the apartment above. She’s quiet, other than the occasional grunt or hiss of pain. When she turns the ankle of her free leg, she whimpers, and Yaz glances down to find the joint also an angry red. It’s likely to be a simple sprain, but it’s enough to add fuel to the fire burning selfishly in the depth of her chest. 

Squeezing her hand and squirming slightly through another wave of discomfort, Dennie drops her gaze to the woman perched anxiously at her side. “A distraction would be brilliant.”

“Remember my birthday party last year?” Yaz probes, dredging up the first memory to come to mind. There’s not actually much she  _ does _ remember from that night, but it makes Dennie smile for a brief moment, and that’s enough for her. 

The blonde adjusts her position, waiting until Yaz gets the message before she can prop her head up a little more against the bulging rucksack. “You were a  _ mess _ the next day.”

“Only because  _ someone _ , who’s name rhymes with  _ kill _ , decided to challenge me to a game of beer pong knowing full well how competitive I get,” Yaz argues, scrunching up her top further when she finds half of it has already been drowned in crimson. 

She tries not to think about that too hard. 

“That was a good night,” Dennie rasps, not withholding a groan this time when Yaz adjusts. 

She’s pressing harder with each slow-passing minute and it shows in the crease to Dennie’s forehead and nose. 

But it’s what she has to do.

“It was. I just wish I could remember half of it,” Yaz replies with a clueless lift of her brows. 

Dennie’s head darts up in surprise, and she bears the consequences only seconds later when blood seeps down to the corner of her eye and she has to wipe it away with their joined hands. “You don’t?” 

“Nope, not after drunk charades, which, for the record, you are absolutely  _ awful _ at.”

“I am  _ not _ .”

“Dennie, you used words all the way through.”

“Not my fault your rules are so stupid.”

“They are  _ the _ rules, Den,” Yaz chides, but immediately takes pity on Dennie’s strained laugh. 

A thoughtful sort of quiet befalls them then, the monotonous ticks of Yaz’s wristwatch a background piece to the hazy replay of memories. 

Sixty steady ticks later, Dennie shivers. “Yaz?”

“Yeah? What do you need? Is it the pain? S’it getting wor—” 

“I’m a bit cold,” she admits quietly, the words brittle on her tongue. 

“Oh, um — do you want my ho—”

“There’s a travel blanket, in my bag, if you could just —” 

“Oh, of course. Hand?”

Dennie’s hand fisted in the rags of former grey, Yaz lifts her head off the bag to search through it and draw free the comfort item. 

It’s tucked up to her chin with little effort, doubled up over her chest and cradled arm to leave her thigh free. From this angle, she can spot Dennie’s gaze wandering over her still exposed midsection, and the faint flush it garners. 

Before she returns to her task, she slips her hoodie over her plaited hair and shifts her position to ease the pins and needles in her legs. 

“Better?” Yaz questions a few short minutes later, blood-stained palm resuming its work as a compression. 

“Could’ve left the hoodie off,” Dennie drawls playfully, but with a voice like gravel and her nose tucked against the edge of the blanket, she hardly seems in the state to flirt. 

Yaz shakes her head, breathing a scoff. “Shut up.”

Thirty ticks pass before hazel meets brown. Yaz is the first to look away, cheeks flaring for a reason yet unbeknownst. 

Two pigeons land on the outside sill, cooing softly between each other as though trading the day’s events. 

Forty-three ticks later, she holds her best friend’s gaze until it slips and tumbles towards her mouth, and then she tilts her head. 

“Are you looking at—”

“Yaz, about that party —” 

Both women pause, glancing away. 

“You go first,” Yaz encourages, curious about the way Dennie’s cheeks are pinkening despite the pale clamour clinging stubbornly to the rest of her features. 

“Your birthday party, Yaz,” Dennie croaks, pausing to stifle a cough. Her hand tightens in Yaz’s with the twinge which comes from a bruise on her side. “D’you remember the — um — the bathtub?”

“Bathtub?” Yaz echoes, brows pinching. When Dennie nods, searching her eyes for something she clearly can’t find, she racks her memories to try and put  _ party  _ and  _ bathtub _ together in a solid image. “No, sorry. Were we in a bathtub?”

Dennie nods, studying the blue patchwork of her blanket. She seems regretful, almost, and more than a bit embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“What were we doing in a  _ bathtub _ ? Why do drunk people always end up in bathtubs?” She voices the last question more to herself than to Dennie, pursing her lips in thought until the blonde speaks up again. 

“You were upset because Bill told you you were being oblivious and you didn’t understand.”

“Nothing new there,” Yaz notes in faux-exasperation. 

“I came to look for you and I found you in the bath with a tub of ice cream,” Dennie continues with no lack of amusement even as the vein in her temple starts to pulse with strain. 

Yaz quietens, allowing her friend the space to continue. 

“You explained to me what happened, I tried not to laugh, and when I stole a spoonful, you told me you’d cut my legs off and feed them to your neighbour’s cat,” Dennie snorts, the sound catching in her throat and forcing a wince Yaz has to force herself not to ease under her thumb. 

Yaz squeezes her hand, baring a curious smile. She has no idea where this could be going next, but by the way Dennie’s pupils glaze over and her gaze avidly flits towards the space above them, she can almost take a guess. 

_ Oh _ . 

“But I was hungry, and we were both drunk, me less so, and  _ obviously _ I had another,” Dennie continues, pink tongue sweeping out and wetting dry lips. “And — um —” 

“Dennie, did we —” 

“We almost — um — we almost kissed,” Dennie divulges, tone dropping to a whisper. Her ears are pink. “But you threw up on me so I put you to bed.”

Embarrassment. Bewilderment. A sense of wanting to rewind the clock — Yaz feels it all. But then again — “Dennie, why are you bringing this up  _ now _ ?”

Four; five; six sturdy, strong ticks pass by. Nearby, but a blur — the sound of sirens, the stomping of heavy boots. A door opening. 

“Because — because if I don’t tell you how I feel now, and something like  _ this _ — but even more serious — happens again,” Dennie starts, eyes wide but shadowed by fatigue as though brain and tongue are no longer in sync. “I’d never forgive myself.”

“Jayden,” Yaz breathes, broadcasting the extent of her present vocabulary.

“Just hear me out, okay?” Dennie implores through a pessimistic sort of sigh over her usual optimistic, cheerful persona. “You can let me down gently as soon as I’m done, but if you’ll just give me a  _ minute _ of your time, I’d really like to get this off my chest.”

Any attempts Yaz makes to object die under Dennie’s glistening gaze, and all at once, her heart begins a cacophony of thuds in her chest. She almost alleviates the pressure on her thigh until Dennie grunts in reminder. 

“I can’t remember  _ not _ being infatuated with you, Yaz. That night — that was all it took to make me realise. I’ve been trying to look for a way to tell you ever since.”

Caged by strong ribs, Yaz’s heart soars. Its ascending rate matches that of frantically searching footfalls.

“Dennie, I’m not going to let you down. Not ever. I—” 

Green eyes lift, seeking, searching, analysing,  _ hoping. _

The door to the room bursts open, luminous yellow and rich green a blur of movement. “Miss Khan? Miss Smith?” 

Yaz refuses to leave Dennie’s side as an oxygen mask falls into place over her groaning lips; as she cries out upon the inspection of her injuries; as her un-attended wound seeps fresh blood onto a bright yellow stretcher. 

She’s holding her hand, bloodied brown against pale white, in the ambulance when oxygen and painkillers draw her in and drag her out of consciousness like the tide. 

She’d have swept into theatre to stand by her side if she could. 

Instead, leg bouncing, Yaz is rendered the task of sitting silently alongside two of her closest friends in the waiting room. 

When she starts twisting the ring gracing her signet finger while trying fervently to ignore the image of her bloodsoaked palms, a tap at her shoulder makes her jump. 

“Sorry!” Clara is quick to murmur, a solid presence at her side now Yaz isn’t lost in thought. “I asked if you were alright, but you’ve been spaced out since we got here.”

The room comes back into view and she glances reflexively towards her watch. “It’s been half an hour. How long does it usually take? Maybe I didn’t spot something. Did I do something wrong—” 

“Yaz,  _ breathe _ ,” Clara takes both hands into hers, squeezing, brown eyes rich with empathy. “Listen to me, she’ll be  _ fine _ . She’s Dennie— she’s always fine.”

Breaths steadying but taking their sweet time over it, Yaz seeks her friend out over studying her palms further, but doesn’t say anything; frankly, she’s saving her energy for the words she owes her best friend. 

“You did awesome today, even the doctors’ said so,” Clara encourages gently, giving her hands another squeeze before letting go. “Take some credit where it’s due, Yaz. You might’ve saved her a whole lot of trouble today.”

Ten minutes later, Dennie’s sleeping form is wheeled through to a room off the side, and another half a circle around her watch later, they’re granted entrance. 

Limp but reassuringly warm, Dennie’s hand is clasped between both of hers as soon as Yaz sits down. Wordlessly, Clara and Bill exchange looks from the seats adjacent. 

She looks fragile like this, Yaz muses with a twinge of discomfort as she takes her in. A thick white plaster hugs her right arm and the laceration on her left leg is bandaged expertly. A small dressing clings to her eyebrow, weeping faintly, and cotton bandage curls around her left foot and ankle. Her lips are parted slightly in sleep. 

“Anyone got a pen? I’d love to take my revenge for that permanent marker moustache right now,” Bill proposes in mock-seriousness, fighting a smirk even though worry creases the corners of her eyes. 

It’s enough to draw Yaz from her thoughts, though, and she relaxes with a scoff of laughter. “I still think it suited you. I’ll stand by that.”

Bill folds her arms, sitting back in her chair. “You’re just smug because she’s never done it to you.”

“Not gonna deny it.”

* * *

She’s halfway through drafting a tweet from the group’s Twitter account when a faint cough comes from the bed before her and in her surprise, she almost sends it out into the world half-finished. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Fam?” Dennie’s croaky voice breaks through the comfortable quiet and instantly, all three glance up. 

“Dennie,” Yaz announces, drawing the blonde’s gaze home to brown. “Welcome back.”

“Hi, Yaz.” Loopily, she grins, only half-aware. “Did they chop my leg off?” 

“Yeah, and your head,” Bill snarks, rounding to her side and catching the blonde’s attention with a small wave. “And every other finger.”

“My head? They took my  _ head _ ?” Dennie splutters, features creasing in a confused frown. Her eyes are half-lidded and threatening to close again, each blink slower than the rest. “But I need my head.”

Bill’s phone rises, record button tapped without hesitation. “This is brilliant. Keep her talking, guys. I’m putting it on our Instagram story.” 

“ _ Bill _ ,” Yaz chides, shooting her a glare which gives way to amusement soon enough. “Dennie, just relax. Go back to sleep.” 

“But my  _ head _ ,” Dennie whispers drunkenly, putting up no resistance whatsoever to the pull of unconsciousness. Adjacent to her, Clara nabs Bill’s phone and pockets it. 

“Thanks, Clara,” Yaz chimes, ignoring Bill’s protests. 

By the time she turns back, Dennie has drifted off again, hand still woven with her own. 

* * *

Three hours and four dumbed-down conversations later, Dennie slurps noisily at a cup of water Yaz holds in place while she flicks through the photos on Yaz’s camera with her uninjured hand. 

“We’re gonna leave you guys to it for a bit and grab some food,” Clara announces with a pat to Yaz’s shoulder. “Think you can handle the headless one for us?”

“M’not  _ headless _ ,” Dennie grumbles around her rainbow-striped straw, nose scrunching. 

“I’ve got it, you guys go and refuel,” Yaz laughs, watching them both go. 

Bill pauses in the doorway to bare her middle finger on the way out, earning an exasperated groan from the blonde rendered useless with one hand. 

Dennie motions to the door with a grimace and her usual term of endearment. “Piss off, Potts.” 

“Oi,” Yaz chides, earning guilty hazel eyes. “Language.”

Dennie flops her head back, huffing through her nose, forcing Yaz to set her drink aside and pluck the camera from her hand. “I’m doped up on painkillers, Yaz, I don’t know what I’m saying.” 

“You’re on ibuprofen, not hallucinogens,” Yaz reprimands. 

“Was that English?”

“Oh,  _ bugger off _ .” 

“Yasmin Khan,” Dennie gasps, eyes wide. “ _ Language.” _

_ “ _ I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” the blonde counters, turning her head clumsily in Yaz’s direction. Her hospital gown is already stained with squash and coffee and there’s biscuit crumbs pooled at her collar but the flush of colour to her cheeks is what reassures her the most. 

“No, you’re right,” Yaz confesses, following the line of her jaw up to the eyes taking her in curiously. “Look, about earlier —”

A knock at the door makes her jump back, but Dennie interlocks their hands at her side while a nurse checks her over —  _ Rory Williams _ , his name tag reads. He’s lanky and a touch awkward but he’s in tune with Dennie’s witty remarks in an instant. 

“Does anyone else wanna come in and interrupt? Oh, let me guess — the ceiling’s about to cave in,” Dennie speaks to the room once he’s left, glancing back only when she hears a sharp inhale from her bedside. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Too soon?”

“Yep.” Yaz nods, curling her free hand around their joined ones and unconsciously clutching it tighter. 

“Bit tighter and you might take my fingers off,” Dennie murmurs playfully, sleep-soft features relaxing in her presence. She’s always more comfortable in smaller units due to her socially awkward nature, and never has it been more clearly on display. 

Guiltily, she begins to loosen her hold. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to squeeze so hard—” 

But Dennie squeezes tighter. “S’okay, I quite like it. Anyway, you were saying, before…?”

“Oh — yeah, right,” Yaz shifts in her seat, swallowing twice and clearing her throat before continuing. “Back in the hotel, before the medics turned up — I wanted to tell you — I needed to say—  _ God _ , you made this sound so easy.”

“Been thinking about it for years, Yaz,” Dennie divulges, her smile wistful. “Had a lot of practice in the mirror.”

She’s on the same wavelength then, that’s a relief. But then — “Wait — you know I like you back, right? This isn’t me turning you down.”

Dennie’s lips part, hazel eyes widening. “What?”

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” Yaz breathes, ducking her head while her shoulders shake. 

Dennie has a sudden fear that she might be crying. “Yaz?”

When she lifts her head again, she’s trembling with laughter. “We’re so dumb.”

“ _ What _ ?” Dennie repeats, confusion rolling off of her in waves. 

“Dennie, I’ve liked you since the moment you walked into our first lecture together,” Yaz informs, pupils glistening, “I’m not  _ letting you down _ , I’m telling you I like you too — a bit more than  _ like _ , actually, but —”

“So, you’re telling me,” Dennie pauses to think, then breaks into a goofy, bemused grin, “that we’ve liked each other this whole time and neither of us thought to say anything? We  _ both _ thought it was one-sided?” 

“Uh — yep, pretty much,” Yaz surmises, lifting a hand from Dennie’s to wipe away a tear. “Oh my  _ God, _ Bill and Clara are going to have a field day with this.” 

“Oh,  _ no.  _ They are, aren’t they?” Dennie shakes with laughter, lines creasing the corners of her eyes. 

The same eyes which dart down to her mouth when Yaz speaks. “Starting to regret it?” she questions, tilting her head to see if she follows the movement. 

“ _ Hell _ , no.” Dennie gives her hand a faint tug, drawing her closer to her bedside. “Yaz, c’mere,” 

“What? Dennie, you’re injured, you just had  _ surgery _ ,” Yaz stresses despite closing the distance. Her chair screeches with the movement and both of them snort like teenagers at the back of a house party. 

“And?” she argues, drawing their hands apart to smooth her fingers down from her cheekbone to her jaw, then curl her palm around the back of her neck. “It’s not every day you get to make a move on the most gorgeous being to walk planet Earth. Come here.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Yaz whispers, words falling in a warm breeze against her mouth.

“Shh.” Dennie leans in with familiar enthusiasm, meeting her lips with a firm kiss which makes her sigh through her nose as though she’s sinking into a comfortable slumber. 

In all honesty, Yaz doesn’t blame her, moving lazily against her mouth in a moment of pure bliss. She feels better than she’d ever imagined, and,  _ God _ , has she imagined this many a time.

Sweeping a hand into blonde locks when a curious tongue seeks entrance, Yaz is pleasantly deaf to the squeak of a door hinge and a double set of footsteps, then the shutter of a phone camera. 

By the time they have enough sense to pull apart, Bill is languishing in the new development while Clara simply grins with pride. 

“About bloody time, ladies. Gotta say, Yaz, I didn’t think you had it in you to accost a hospital patient.”

“It was — oh my God, it wasn’t like I just  _ attack —”  _

“It was a very pleasant accosting,” Dennie supplies as though she thinks she’s helping. It’s almost sweet, if Yaz were not so flustered. “ _ Very _ pleasant. If that’s what you’re wondering.” 

“ _ Dennie _ .”

Cluelessly, Dennie glances between Yaz’s pink cheeks and Bill’s smug expression. “What?”


	2. the talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here they are!!! back again being absolute disasters!!! i don't know how many chapters I'm going to do for these guys but I'll admit they're super fun to write so enjoy! 
> 
> love u all hope you're all doing ok rn x

_@idiotsroamingofficial 13 March 2020 [2:13 PM]_

**NEW UPLOAD: a big thank you!**

“Hey, fam! It’s finally home time!” Dennie chimes breezily into her camera, phone propped up at her bedside. She offers a thumbs up before continuing, excitement making her uninjured leg bounce against the side of her bed. “Honestly, though, it’s been a solid thirteen out of ten here — I would highly recommend it,” she pauses when a nurse shoots her a half-amused, half-chiding look from across the room, scrunching her nose in apology “ — only if you get ill, though, of course.”

“Anyway, thanks for all your support and your get well messages, guys, it really means a lot. I’m going to be back out there in no time, I promise, and in the meantime, If you could send the rest of the gang some love, that would be brilliant. They’ve helped me tons in the last few days, so it’s even more important to be kind to everyone you know — or don’t know — right now. Check-in with someone you haven’t spoken to in a while, or even a neighbour, and hug a loved one. Just do something nice today, fam.”

Dennie’s already grinning, but when Yaz ambles over with her paperwork, her features brighten immensely. 

For a moment, her brain stutters and stammers to a halt. It’s only when Yaz nods pointedly to the camera that she blinks out of her haze and back into the present. 

“Oh! Right, yeah — before I go, if you have any ideas of doodles I could try on my cast, or if you have any suggestions of things we could record while I’m out of action, comment down below!” 

“See you when I see you, guys!”

After a wave some would describe as over-enthusiastic, the video cuts out. 

* * *

_@denniestan: who wants to bet yaz walked over when she suddenly stopped talking_

_@gaysroaming: get well soon dennie <3 _

_@fourgayidixts: draw a boob_

_@idiotsroamingofficial: BRILLIANT suggestion but yaz said im not allowed :( — d_

_@fourgayidixts: @idiotsroaming OMF G ILAJKSJKJDJ SHJE REPLIED_

_@fourgayidixts: @idiotsroaming: DONT LET YAZ STOP YOU_   
  


* * *

“I can’t believe they let us off with a warning for trespassing because the police officer was a fan of our channel,” Yaz echoes aloud, heaving Dennie’s backpack over her shoulder while her counterpart sits up on the edge of her hospital bed. 

She’s out of her hospital gown, a loose band tee combined with a pair of joggers making her look adorably comfy, and when she casts a smile Yaz’s way, it’s sleep-soft and relieved. 

She’s been permitted to go home today, so long as she takes it easy. 

That — Yaz thinks as she observes her friend’s lightly swinging legs and the wince she hides when it pulls at her thigh — is going to be the hardest part. 

“She got me to sign her notebook,” Dennie snorts, glancing down at her freshly cast arm and probably theorising what doodles to decorate it with. “Apparently her daughter’s a fan, too. Oh, and the bloke who owned that hotel? He was going to bulldoze it anyway, so he said we helped more than anything else.”

“Well,” Yaz starts, padding over to lift Dennie’s arm around her shoulders and sweep her own around her waist to help her onto her feet. “That’s great and all, but it still doesn’t mean I wouldn’t go back in time and stop it from happening altogether.” 

Dennie wilts at that, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and blinking guilty green eyes in her direction. “Yaz —” 

“It’s _fine_ , it’s okay, just — don’t scare me like that again, okay?” Yaz commands gently, raising her brows in expectation. 

Dennie nods before dropping her gaze to her feet to ensure they move at her request. “Yes, boss.”

“Good, because —” Yaz pauses, letting her take her first wobbly step towards the door with a secure arm around her waist. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

The body pressed against her side warms, and Dennie tips her chin up with a charming grin. “Anything for you, babe.”

“Oh, _shut_ _up,”_ Yaz scoffs. She’d nudge her in the side if she weren’t holding onto her for dear life and taking baby steps out of the room. She pockets that pet name, though, flames licking at her neck and cheeks with how warm it makes her feel. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Dennie grunts, scruffy yellow converse squeaking against the thoroughly cleaned floor. “I’ll try my best, Yaz. Promise.”

“Good, now let’s get you home.”

* * *

A skateboard, a scooter and a football are just a few of the obstacles in their way when Yaz supports Dennie through the familiar royal blue door to her apartment. With a faint glare towards the blonde, she guides her to the open expanse of her living room and settles her down on her purple sofa.

“Very comfy. Thanks, Yaz,” Dennie praises as she sags back into the cushions, letting out a faint grunt when her muscles ease. She kicks one plimsoll off and wriggles her foot to discard the other when the tender skin of her thigh pulls against the sutures and she hisses.

“ _Dennie_ ,” Yaz chides, immediately crouching to carefully slip the offending footwear off. “What part of _take it easy on your leg_ did you not understand?” 

Sheepishly, Dennie offers a smile, brows lifting and lips pursing. She wriggles her rainbow-socked toes with the new freedom.

When Yaz’s features soften, she knows she’s forgiven. “Please just ask me if you need help, okay? S’what I’m here for.”

Dennie’s gasp is mocking and dramatic, her uninjured hand pressed against her chest. “Thought you were here for my alluring presence and bright personality.”

“ _Shut up_.”

When Dennie laughs, Yaz’s cheeks flush and she distracts herself by pouring her a glass of water. 

She passes it over with surprisingly steady hands despite the adrenaline still sweeping through her system at finally being alone with her friend — the same friend she’d confessed her feelings for less than a week ago. They haven’t talked about it since, nor have they kissed. The more Yaz thinks about it, the more she reckons it was simply a very vivid dream. 

“Would prefer a glass of wine, if I’m honest,” Dennie huffs, accepting the blue-striped glass nonetheless. 

The complaint draws Yaz from thoughts of a hospital room and soft lips on hers. “Dennie, you know you can’t have alcohol with painkillers.”

The blonde narrows her gaze as she sips at the liquid, as though contemplating the benefits of wine over painkillers. 

“Hey, I already know what you’re thinking — so no wine allowed until you’re better,” Yaz asserts, folding her arms and doing her best to look stern. 

“You’re really enjoying this whole _doctor and patient_ thing, huh?” Dennie sing-songs through a filthy smirk, and if Yaz wasn’t already flustered, she is now. When the blonde’s gaze rakes over her form, suddenly that admission seems even more vivid.

_Apparently, since all I seem to want to do is kiss you again._ Yaz lets the words lace her tongue. 

“You’re awful,” she chides instead.

* * *

It’s another two weeks until Dennie is finally recovered enough to take a sip of the rich red liquid and retune her muscles with exercise. 

Unfortunately, it comes at the same time as the country goes into lockdown. 

“And are you sure you’re okay to be on your own?” Yaz implores through her phone, picking at the cuticles of her nails until Dennie reaches out on reflex to pause the action. She slips her fingers between Yaz’s in a familiar fashion and squeezes, gaze still on her laptop. 

_“Mum and dad called earlier, I think I’m going to stay with them until all this washes over,”_ Sonya replies, nonplussed. In the background, she can hear the microwave _ping_ and she rolls her eyes — even after her best attempts to help teach her sister to cook, she’s still usually the one catering for them both. _“What about you? Are you bunking up with your girlfriend?”_

Yaz’s cheeks flush with warmth and she pats Dennie’s hand to get her attention. Once the blonde has looked her way, Yasz motions towards the balcony with a nod of her head and five fingers up.

It’s only once she’s safely on the other side of the sliding balcony doors and facing the city lights that Yaz can respond. “We’re not — we haven’t _talked_ about—”

“ _Oh my God, Yaz, you’re useless_ ,” Sonya half-laughs, half-groans, leaving Yaz to run a hand through her untamed curls. _“Just tell her you’re obsessed with her and you wanna jump in her pants.”_

“Sonya!” Yaz crows, taking a breath. “I don’t know how to bring it up again — we’ve sort of just — carried on the way we were. Maybe she was too drugged up to remember?” Yaz sags against the cool railings, dropping her head and heaving a sigh. “Maybe she changed her mind?”

_“Or maybe she thinks_ **_you_ ** _have changed_ **_your_ ** _mind,”_ Sonya argues, her rolling eyes all but audible through the receiver. _“Just talk to her, Yaz. She’s been giving you heart eyes since uni, I promise._ **_Talk to her_ ** _.”_

Yaz glances over her shoulder to find Dennie already looking her way, and the blonde turns back to the screen with a sheepish grin at being caught. 

“She’s asked me to stay with her, anyway — and someone’s got to make sure she doesn’t — I don’t know — set the place on fire.”

_“You can just say you want to stay with her, you know.”_

“Sonya —”

_“Talk to her.”_

“I’m going to!”

_“Right after this call?”_

“Yeah, totally.” 

_“Alright, see ya.”_

“Sonya!” Yaz groans when the other end of the line cuts off. 

* * *

“Everything okay?” Dennie quips when Yaz pads back inside, lifting the blanket at her side in invitation. She’s settled her laptop aside for now, leaving the television on as background noise.

Silently cursing her friend’s perceptive nature, Yaz sinks into the purple sofa and sets her phone aside. “Sonya’s staying with mum and dad until it all passes,” she supplies distractedly, earning hazel eyes and the concerned furrow of thin brows. 

“That’s good, right?” Dennie points out, turning to better seek her attention. She lifts her injured hand, flexing her fingers in a wave which makes her wince only slightly. “So why do you sound sad?” A beat passes. “Wait — did you want to go home too? Shit — I’m sorry — I must sound really selfish. You’re welcome to go home, Yaz. I don’t want to make you feel like you’ve got to take care of me or something—”

“No, wait — _Dennie_ , you didn’t —” Yaz interrupts, but it’s a mere pebble in Dennie’s stream of words. 

“No wonder you’ve been so quiet lately — I didn’t even think —” 

“ _Jayden_ ,” Yaz interjects, successfully capturing the blonde’s widened gaze and putting an end to her rambling. “I want to stay here with you.”

“Oh.” Dennie’s tongue flits across her bottom lip in a nervous tick and she relaxes somewhat. “Okay, cool — but —” 

“And I’m not _sad_ , I just —” Yaz straightens up, picking at the yellow blanket laid over their laps and letting out a slow exhale. “Dennie, what are we?”

“Ah,” the blonde breathes all the while Yaz braces for the worst. “Right, yeah — was wondering when this would come up,” she scrunches her nose, but she’s smiling. “I thought — I thought maybe you’d forgotten about it — or — or changed your mind.”

“Oh, my _God.”_ Yaz’s groan makes Dennie startle right before it clicks. 

The blonde raises her uninjured hand in order to facepalm.“We’ve done it again, haven’t we?” 

“Yep,” Yaz grumbles good-naturedly. “So, just to be clear — you weren’t too drugged up to remember and you _did_ mean what you said before?” 

“Yes,” Dennie replies through a disbelieving snort. “That’s really what you thought?” 

“Mm-hm,” Yaz murmurs in embarrassment, bringing her knees up to her chest and hiding behind her palms. It only encourages Dennie’s amusement. 

“Oh, Yaz,” she sighs at the tail end of her laughter, “As if I could forget kissing you.”

The words take effect instantly, making warmth surge up from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her ears in milliseconds. Yaz lifts her head slightly, seeking out any dishonesty in Dennie’s gaze. Her breath catches when her search comes back unsuccessful. “You’ve — you’ve been thinking about it?” 

“Quite a lot, yeah.” Dennie swallows, gaze flitting between wide brown irises and full lips. 

Yaz wets her lips, watching Dennie follow the motion. She thinks the television must’ve turned off, because she can no longer hear it over the pumping of blood through her ears. “Me too.”

With matching grins, both are set on observing each other for a few long minutes. 

Yaz finds herself admiring the curve of Dennie’s top lip, noticing not for the first time the slight unevenness to its sloping shape. 

The blonde hesitates for only a moment longer before closing the millimetre of distance between them and cupping the back of Yaz’s neck. “How much have you thought about it?”

Yaz’s lashes flutter and she leans into the motion Dennie guides her through until their foreheads meet. “First thing in the morning,” she starts, cool nose meeting Dennie’s and falling into alignment. If she so much as breathes, their lips touch, featherlight and ghosting. “And last thing at night.”

“Yaz,” Dennie sighs, and it’s the ray of sunlight that catches on weathered wood and sends everything else up in flames. 

“And every moment in between,” Yaz finishes, the tip of her tongue brushing Dennie’s bottom lip when she wets her own. Emboldened, she continues. “I’m always thinking about kissing you, Dennie.”

“You’re — you’re —” Dennie pauses, taking a shaky inhale. “Always?”

“Yeah,” Yaz breathes, repeating the motion but, this time, allowing herself to trace the corner of her mouth with her tongue, finding the grooves and creases in pink flesh. She tastes like sugar and coffee and the jelly sweets scattered on the table. 

Is it possible to get diabetes from a kiss?

Dennie’s face is burning when Yaz’s gaze flits away from her lips to take in her yearning state. “Yaz, please —” 

“You were a lot more confident last time, I sw—” Yaz’s sentence cuts off when Dennie takes advantage, dragging her that much closer with the hand at the back of her neck and sealing their mouths together. 

Yaz’s gasp is swallowed down by her counterpart, who makes slow explorations of her mouth as soon as her tongue is granted entrance. 

A hand fists in Dennie’s soft pink jumper to ground herself while the blonde steals all the oxygen from her system in one impassioned kiss. 

Dennie’s hold moves from her neck to sweep into dark curls, carding her fingers through the strands while she swirls her tongue around Yaz’s own in a battle for control. 

When Yaz hums, sucking Dennie’s bottom lip between her teeth, the blonde lets out a staggered breath, pressing against her for more. She notes her reaction for future reference. 

Exploratively, she bites down gently against the tender, giving flesh, and the low whimper she gets in response sets her alight. 

Dennie is panting and dishevelled when she pulls back for air, lips kiss-swollen and dizzying. 

While she catches her breath, Yaz takes her in, lifting a hand to Dennie’s cheek and smoothing her thumb over the fading imprint of her teeth against her bottom lip. When she spots the rapidly-beating pulse in her neck, she ducks her head, lips moulding against the sensitive skin and tongue gracing the spot in avid curiosity. 

“ _Yaz_ ,” Dennie sighs, her good hand still curled in her hair. 

When she doesn’t draw her away, Yaz continues her exploration, trailing a series of hot kisses along her strong jaw towards her ear. The closer she gets, the tighter Dennie clutches at her hair. She can feel the way she shudders against her when she greets the space just below the curve of her ear, coaxing her to pay special attention to the pale flesh. 

It’s red and rosy in seconds, triggered by a swirling tongue and the faint graze of teeth. 

When she spares a glance towards Dennie’s face, she’s pleased to find her lashes fluttering and lips parted in a silent gasp. 

She _squirms_ when Yaz captures the lobe between her teeth, shifting and shuffling until she’s half-draped in Yaz’s lap. 

By the time she returns her attention to her lips, Dennie is like putty in her hands, sighing and purring with every slow stroke of their tongues together. It’s less heated this time — more a lazy quest in search of weak points, but it doesn’t stop Yaz from wanting her ever closer. 

With a sure tug at her hip, Dennie attempts to shift properly into her lap. 

In her excitement, however, she swings her still bandaged thigh over Yaz’s hip without thought. The protesting skin makes her gasp out in pain and fist a hand in Yaz’s jumper. “Ah — _ah_.”

Yaz’s eyes widen and she instinctively glances down at the blonde’s thigh in concern. “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to —” 

“It’s not your fault,” Dennie implores quietly, hissing another breath through her teeth as the sensitive skin settles again.“I forgot.”

Yaz’s arms curl low over her hips in the meantime, waiting until the wave of pain has subsided before she presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Dennie’s lips. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” Dennie grumbles faintly, clearly hoping for more before her injury got in the way. She hangs her head and glares holes in the offending limb. “Stupid leg.”

“Hey,” Yaz murmurs in sympathy, lifting Dennie’s chin to seek out hazel-green. “We have time — loads of it, actually —” she reminds her gently, “— so there’s no rush, okay?”

Dennie offers a faint nod and a small smile which grows with each passing second their gaze is level. “Right — yeah, sorry,” she replies, leaning into Yaz’s touch when it moves from her chin to her cheek. “Got a bit carried away.”

“You and me both,” Yaz laughs, watching the effect of the sound blossom over Dennie’s features. She earns a giddy giggle and a grin, then sure arms curling around her shoulders. She dodges a cast to the face, sinking into Dennie’s embrace and basking in the hazy way her brain catches up with her environment. 

“Um — so,” Dennie pipes up ten minutes later from the curve of her shoulder, forehead warm even through the material. “Yaz, what does this make us?”

“You’re acting like you’ve never had a girlfriend before,” Yaz hums, turning her head. 

Dennie’s head lifts in surprise and she squirms in excitement. “Is that — is that what you —” 

“Eventually?” Yaz prompts shyly, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. “I mean — we — I’d like to date you, first — even though we can’t exactly go anywhere at the minute — but if you’re up for trying?”

Dennie presses a finger to her still tingling lips. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Yaz echoes with a blossoming grin. 

“Yaz, I’ve liked you since we were nineteen,” Dennie laughs, leaning in to press a kiss to a blushing cheek. “Of course I’ll date you.”

Yaz beams, ducking her head to seek her lips out again. “Can’t believe I’m basically signing up to be a childminder.”

“ _Oi!”_

“Shh,” Yaz hums against her lips, starting up another slow exploration. 

* * *

“Um, so I could just take the couch — if you want? I don’t want to presume—” 

“Yaz, we’ve shared a bed hundreds of times, get your butt over here.”

“Yes, boss,” Yaz laughs, cheeks aflame. She slips between sheets which are raised in invitation, settling comfortably against Dennie’s cloud-like mattress. 

Dennie’s familiar earl grey scent engulfs her instantaneously and, on reflex, she rolls onto her side to seek her out. 

Her lips are pulled down into a faint frown when Yaz glances over her features, and with a guilty twinge in the pit of her stomach, she raises herself up on her elbows. “Hey, what’s up?”

The blonde glances between Yaz and her encased arm with a frustrated crease to her brow. “I wanted to — but now I can’t —” 

“What did you —”

“I wanted to hold you,” Dennie huffs, every bit a grumpy child denied ice cream. 

Yaz can’t help but take pity, brown eyes softening in empathy. “Think you can deal with being the little spoon for now?” 

A pitiful huff and a shuffle in position later, Dennie resigns herself to her fate. “For now — but as soon as this dumb cast is off, I’m taking back my big spoon status.”

“Of course, babe,” Yaz laughs, slinging an arm around her waist and moulding against her back. She presses a kiss to a freckle at the back of her neck and sighs against short blonde locks, breathing her in. “This okay?”

“One sec,” Dennie mumbles, shuffling back until Yaz is flush against her. She slips her fingers through the gaps in the ones resting over her stomach and breathes a soft, contented sigh. “Perfect.”

They remain like that, bodies aligned like puzzle pieces into place, until Dennie turns her head slightly, patting at a half-asleep Yaz’s hand. “Hang on — did you call me _babe_? In — like — a non-jokey way?”

“Oh,” Yaz baulks in her fatigued state, but relaxes somewhat when Dennie squeezes at their linked hands. “Sorry, did you not —” 

“I liked it,” Dennie interrupts, her smile audible. “Sounds nice when you say it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Yaz hums. 

“You know what else sounds nice when you say it?”

Stifling an exhausted huff, Yaz indulges her. “What is it?”

“Dennie’s brilliant.”

“Oh my — Dennie, go to sleep.”

“Oh my _Dennie_? You think I’m a God?” 

“ _Jayden_ , I will not hesitate to turn on the lights and open all the windows to invite in _every_ moth in this neighbourhood.” 

“ _Yaz_ , you know I have a fear of moths. You can’t use my phobias against me. That’s — that’s _sick_ , Yaz. I’m rethinking this whole thing.”

“Shut _up_.”

“Wow — I invite you into my home, I let you stay during a _global pandemic_ , and this is what I g—” 

Yaz props herself up on her elbow to cut her off with her mouth on hers, swallowing down the rest of her sentence.

“Huh. Thought that would work.”

Taming her breathing back down to a regular level, Dennie swallows. “Mm.”

“Goodnight, Dennie,” Yaz hums in amusement, thumb brushing over her knuckles. 

Like putty, Dennie settles back against her once more. Her voice is a breathy whisper in the low light. “Night, Yaz.”

  
  


* * *

**_@idiotsroamingofficial 28 March 2020 [12:30PM]_ **

_hoping you’re all doing okay during these stressful times! And remember, if you’re feeling overwhelmed, there’s always someone to talk to at Mind! - d_

**[image attached: it shows Dennie leaning against balcony railings in a pair of denim shorts and a** **_Mind, the mental health charity_ ** **t-shirt. She also wears odd socks. There is a distinct reflection in the glass panelling exposing the photographer]**

_@yazkhxnstan: is that @YazKhans taking the picture? ARE YOU GUYS IN QUARANTINE TOGETHER_

_@yazkhxnstan @dxnniesyaz: OH MYGOD IT IS THEY'RE TOGETHER WE’RE WINNING_

_@jennydoodles: thank u for the support guys it’s really cool that you’re working with mental health charities!!_

_@idiotsroamingofficial: thank you! we’re always happy to support a worthy cause and it’s especially important to focus on mental health at this time! hope you’re doing okay! - d_

_@idiotsroamingofficial @jennydoodles: i’ve been struggling a bit actually but your videos are really helping at the minute so thanks guys_

_@jennydoodles @idiotsroamingofficial: that means so much to us, thank you <3 And the most important thing right now is that you take care of yourself and remember you’re brilliant and super important, jenny! - d _

_@idiotsroamingofficial @jennydoodles: thank you dennie ily_

_@jennydoodles @idiotsroamingofficial: aw, love you too jenny <3 _

_@denniestan: legs_

_@fourgayidixts: dennie yaz elope_

* * *

“Do you think we should tell anyone?” Yaz pipes up, drawing groceries out of their bags and refilling Dennie’s bare fridge with food. 

From her place perched on the countertop with her hand stuffed into a bag of _Skittles_ , Dennie mumbles through a mouthful. “Hm?”

“You know, about — about us,” she replies, eyeing a box of choc-ices she _definitely_ doesn’t remember picking up. 

Dennie’s coy grin is answering enough. She swings her legs, no longer limited by a heavy bandage on her thigh. The skin is puckered and pink but quickly healing, her denim shorts cut off just above it. “We could — I mean — we could just —” she reaches out when Yaz pauses, making grabby hands until she steps between her legs. “Keep it between us — for now?”

“You think so?” Yaz prompts, hands settling at Dennie’s hips. She toys at her belt loops, gaze returning home. 

“I like having you to myself,” Dennie flirts unashamedly, arms looping around Yaz’s shoulders. “Don’t fancy sharing you with anyone else yet. And honestly —” she presses a kiss to the crease between Yaz’s brows. “I’m pretty sure all the tweeter —”

“Twitter.”

“ _Twitter_ people have guessed already,” Dennie finishes, lifting her freshly bandaged arm — the cast was taken off a few days prior — to tuck a curl away from Yaz’s eyes. “The comments went a little crazy this morning when they saw you in the reflection.” 

“ _Hm_.” Yaz narrows her brows in thought before her lips curve up into a mischievous smirk. “In the meantime, you reckon we could tease them a bit?”

“ _Yaz,_ ” Dennie gasps, a hand flying to her chest in faux shock. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” She leans up as though granting herself a kiss, then raises a skittle to her lips and grins. “I’m in.”

* * *

“What do you think?” Yaz hovers with bated breath, rocking on her toes and biting at the corner of her nail. “It’s okay if you don’t —” 

“Yaz, this is _amazing_ ,” Dennie groans around a bite, the sound making Yaz’s cheeks flush and the pit of her stomach flip. “Have you added something new to the recipe? ‘Cause I’ve always loved your pakora but this is _insanely_ good.”

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” Yaz’s relief is audible and she finally slips into her seat at the dining table. “I thought I might’ve added too much seasoning.”

“Never too much seasoning, Yaz,” Dennie mumbles through another mouthful, not slowing down in her excitement. 

“Babe,” Yaz chides gently, lifting her brows as she takes her first small forkful. “Slow down, the world’s not ending in a minute’s time.”

“You never know,” the blonde counters, sauce clinging to the corner of her lips. Each bite brings with it a new set of tastes. “This would make a brilliant last meal if it were, Yaz.”

“Wow,” Yaz breathes, blowing lightly at the amalgamation of onion, potato and spices before taking another bite. “Dark.”

* * *

Dennie is nursing a stomach ache in repercussion for her excitable and brisk approach to their evening meal when she suddenly gasps, a hand still braced against her bloated belly. “Yaz!”

“I’m not falling for the _Yaz, I think I’m pregnant_ joke again, babe,” Yaz chides from the adjoining, open plan kitchen where she finishes off adding cutlery to the dishwasher. “You got me the first time.”

“No, no, shh, I’m having a thought,” Dennie huffs, sitting up and grunting when it twinges at her stomach. 

“Oh, no.” Yaz pads over to press the back of her hand to Dennie’s forehead, taking her temperature. “Yeah, you do feel a little warm. Sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” Dennie crows, batting at her hand and scoffing when Yaz breaks into laughter. “I was thinking of an idea for the channel, while we’re stuck inside — you should do some cooking videos.”

“No _way_ , Dennie.”

“I can be your Sue chef! No, wait — your Dennie chef.” The blonde scrunches her nose. “Dunno who Sue is.”

“It’s sous—” 

“Yeah — Sue. That’s what I said.”

“Dennie, I’m _not_ doing cooking videos, not ever. You know I’m better behind the camera and it’s not as if I’m Michelin star level —”

“That’s a stupid name, anyway. Why would anyone want the name Michelin Star? I guess the star bit is cool but —” 

“ _Dennie_.”

“What?”

“I’m not doing it.”

* * *

_@idiotsroamingofficial 13 April 2020 [1:00PM]_

**NEW UPLOAD: DISASTER PAKORA WITH DENNIE AND YAZ**

“Hey, guys! Fam? Gang? Hope you’re all doing well at the minute! Today’s video is going to be a little different since we’re not allowed out and all, but I hope you can enjoy it just as much as usual!” Dennie enthuses to the camera mounted on a tripod just before her kitchen island, an apron slung around her neck and tied in a double knot around her waist. 

“I’m here with the _extremely_ talented Yaz, who is bravely stepping out from behind the camera to take you through one of the best recipes on the planet.”

At her side, Yaz double-checks they have the right amounts of ingredients before offering the camera a small wave and shooting Dennie a playful glare. “No pressure, then.”

“Ah, shush, you’re a natural,” Dennie grins, a hand at the small of her back. “What are you going to be making for us today, Yaz?”

“Well, today, we’re trying out my family recipe for pakora,” Yaz informs the camera, gaze flitting from the lense to the ingredients. “And hoping that Dennie doesn’t somehow burn the place down.”

“ _Oi_.” Dennie’s lips part around a silent gasp which soon turns into a pout. With one smile sent her way, Yaz wipes the expression aside in seconds. Flushing, Dennie glances back to the camera. “Right, let’s get a shift on.”

* * *

“Dennie, that’s —”

“It’s my mini whisk, Yaz. Don’t offend the mini whisk.”

  
  


“Dennie, could you squeeze the mixture into balls for me while I’m working on the chutney?”

“Anytime, baby.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yeah — I realise that now. Is it possible to delete a clip while you’re still recording it?”

  
  


“Those aren’t —”

“Yeah, they’re not balls, but I prefer hearts. Don’t they look brilliant?” 

  
  


“Dennie, could you _please_ not skateboard while you’re dunking the balls —”

“Hearts.” 

“ _Hearts_ — into boiling hot oil?”

“But — think about it, Yaz. If this goes up, I can get away faster.”

“I—”

  
  


“Yaz?”

“Yeah?”

“Could we add food colouring? Brown’s a boring colour.”

“Dennie, you can’t just add food colouring to every food you don’t like the shade of.”

“Why not?”

“You just can’t. It’s just not something you do. Plus, it can alter the taste. Wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

“Nah, I guess not.”

  
  


“Dennie, why are the bhaji’s purple?”

“Listen — I took on board what you said.”

“Yeah?”

“And I went with my gut instead.” 

“Sometimes I think you were sent here to test me, Dennie.”

“Aw, thanks, Yaz.” 

“Dennie, could you set a timer for me?”

“Sure, gotcha. Siri? Set a timer for three million minutes.”

_“Timer set for three million minutes.”_

“Why did you —”

“You didn’t give me a time.”

  
  


“Bon appetit, Yaz!”

“As you can see, guys, you can — you can even make these in rainbow colours, if you like.”

“Taste test?”

“Knock yourself out.”

  
  


“Yaz?”

“Yeah, Den?”

“Think you should’ve left the food colouring out, t’be honest. They taste a bit funky.”

“Excuse me — _you’re_ the one who put the colouring in!”

“Guys, I think Yaz is trying to poison me.”

* * *

_@denniestan: elope_

_@dxnnies_hands: lots of h*nd content here we are eating well tonight_

_@billpottsfan: you guys are SO LOUD_


	3. the silver lining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peep the rating change folks ! 
> 
> anyways hope everyone is staying safe, and enjoy the chapter! x
> 
> tw: discussions of mental health/anxiety

She’d been noticing the signs for a few days now; slow reactions and a hazy presence like the beach on a hot day or the warped air on the horizon in mid-summer. She’s there, physically, but every time Dennie turns to ask her something or make a humoured quip, it takes a little longer each time for Yaz to respond, if at all. 

For one so fit and healthy, a sudden halt to her exercise routine is another sign. 

The manner in which she picks at her food is another — and it’s not down to her cooking; she’s sure of that. 

Yaz has been slipping for the better half of a week, now, and Dennie is well-aware but helpless in her mission to catch her. 

So, she waits. She lets the woman she loves — she’s figured that much out by now — ride the wave gradually back towards the shore with an attentive eye and no questions asked. Because this isn’t something she _can_ question, for once — because if there were reasons behind the hold it has on Yaz, she would’ve very well searched the globe for answers; the universe, if need be. 

She doesn’t ask her if she’s okay; barely pays mind to the way the early bird that is Yasmin Khan — rises mid-afternoon from her bedroom and drags her feet wordlessly towards the sofa, hood snug over her head and a confused, spaced-out frown on her lips when she takes in the wall clock set above the television.

She doesn’t mention the fact that the other woman hasn’t bathed in the last five days; doesn’t remind her that she hasn’t changed out of her university hoodie and plaid pyjama shorts for the same amount of time. Because when she had, in the past, in a cramped dorm room cast in the dark by stubbornly closed blinds, it hadn’t helped in the least. If anything, it made it worse. 

Dennie Smith isn’t patient by nature — but in a situation such as this, a minute less in bed and a second more conversation from the otherwise silent woman is an achievement. 

For Yaz, she can wait. 

“ _Yaz_ ,” Dennie whispers harshly when Yaz’s hand remains, unmoving, curled around the handle of a steaming aluminium pan. She pries her fingers from the metal and guides her to the sink in an instant, the cold tap on her reddened skin enough of a shock to drag Yaz away from the demons taking shelter behind her glazed eyes. 

Yaz’s lips part on a hiss and she glances between her scolded fingers and the blonde keeping them in place below the tap, blinking out of her daze. “Sorry — what happened?” 

“You were holding onto the hot part of the handle, babe,” Dennie answers, training the fright in her voice. “Just keep your hand under the tap for another few minutes for me, alright? S’nice and cool. I can finish up with dinner.” 

“Oh,” Yaz breathes, studying the way the water tumbles over her fingertips. “Right. Yeah. Thanks.” 

“Not a problem, Yaz.” Dennie brushes a kiss against Yaz’s temple and slips back towards the hob, her focus returning to their half-cooked bolognese. 

The sizzling mixture almost drowns out the sound of choked breaths. 

Almost. 

Dennie turns to find Yaz hunched slightly over the sink, broken gasps riding on trembling shoulders.

“Babe.” The blonde stops just shy of the other woman, a hand raised but hovering at her back. She has a degree in Yaz’s body language and she can tell when her fight-or-flight instinct kicks in. Right now, she’s on the precipice between them. “Yaz — do you mind if I touch you? Can I hug you? Would that be —”

When Yaz swivels around and sinks against her chest, it’s all the permission she needs. 

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. ” Dennie murmurs, arms slung around Yaz’s shoulders in an effort to ground her. She hooks her chin over one shoulder and feels a little better when Yaz has the peace of mind to wrap an arm around her waist. “I’ve always got you, Yaz.”

Two fingers tap steadily against the top of Yaz’s spine in time with Dennie’s pulse, which Yaz seeks out with an ear to her chest. She feels her settle there; feels her quiet cries sink into her bones en route to her constricting heart. 

And again, she waits. 

She waits until Yaz’s stubborn tears have dampened a patch in her pale blue sweatshirt and her gasps have calmed into the occasional hiccup of breath. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I wish I could.”

“Yaz, you can always talk to me about these things, you know that.”

“No — I don’t mean it like that — I _mean_ I don’t know why I’m upset. I can’t explain it, Dennie.” 

She feels Yaz’s hand fist in her jumper, tears of frustration welling in bloodshot pupils. 

“I wish I could, I really do. I just — I just want to stay in bed all day and sleep and do _nothing_ and it’s nowt to do with you because you’re literally a godsend; you’re, like, the best person I’ve ever met, Dennie,” Yaz croaks, hot tears falling freely. 

Dennie swipes them away with tender, sure motions of her thumbs, lips pressed shut to allow Yaz the space to continue. 

“So why do I feel so heavy?”

Dennie’s jaw slackens slightly, mouth opening sans speech. 

“Yaz.”

“It’s not fair, Dennie — I wake up and I just —” Yaz raises her hands in explanation, but they halt in mid-air; alike her words, they cannot find a reason for her shift in mood. “It feels like my bones have turned to lead and my head is so _full_ — but completely empty at the same time. It doesn’t make sense.” She ducks her head, leaning into Dennie’s touch with a teary whimper of frustration. “I wish it made sense.”

Dennie sighs through her nose, lips pressed against the vein pulsing at Yaz’s temple. She lets her sink in against her chest again and tightens her hold around shaking shoulders. “There are no reasons for things like this, Yaz. And that’s what hurts, right?” She feels her nod against her chest, so, lifting a hand to card through slightly knotted hair, Dennie does what she does best; she talks. 

“I know I can’t even comprehend how hard this is for you, Yaz, but thank you for telling me how you’re feeling,” she praises, words falling against her temple. “And if you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed, or you just don’t want to do _anything_ , or you want to be alone, that’s okay. It’s important to me that you know that, Yaz.”

“But I’m staying with you — this is _your_ apartment, for God’s sake. If I can’t drag myself out of bed and pull my weight around here, I don’t deserve to stay—” 

“Yaz, stop. None of that.”

“Dennie—”

“ _Yasmin_.”

Dennie meets her glossy gaze in stubborn refusal, arching a slim brow until she flushes and ducks back beneath her chin. “I don’t want to hear any of that, okay? You’re here because I want you to be here; not because I need someone to wash my dirty dishes and dust that weird jewellery box some old lady gave us in Slovenia which I’m _pretty sure_ is haunted —”

“Dennie.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry. What I’m saying is, and I’ve told you this before — you do what you need to do, Yaz. If you’re not up for talking, and you just want to do your thing, that’s okay. We can be quiet together. If you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed even though you’ve tried your hardest, that’s okay, too. It’s _okay_ to give in sometimes, Yasmin.” Dennie peels back enough to cup her chin and lift her head, seeking out tired eyes. “As long as you try not to let it win — as long as you put up a fight, ‘cause you’re Yasmin Khan, and I know full well you don’t give up that easily.”

Wordless, Yaz nods, the moisture pooling along her bottom lid making its escape when a slow blink breaks their gaze. 

“D’you promise me you won’t give in without a fight?” 

Another nod, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Dennie wipes away the last tear with a featherlight touch. 

“I need to hear you say it, Yaz.”

Yaz blinks up at her, levelling her gaze. When Dennie searches past those rich brown eyes, she finds a fresh slither of determination amidst the thick mist of exhaustion already taking residence there. “Yes. Yeah — I promise.”

“Brilliant.” Dennie grins. Yaz tries her best to return it — and it’s progress. Pride swells in her chest and in the hazel gaze directed towards her friend. “Now, let’s get a shift on.”

While Yaz picks away at her food a short time later, Dennie flicks the television on and lets a rerun of _Back to the Future_ fill the easy quiet. 

Halfway through, a cool palm seeks out her own and Dennie’s insides warm to a gooey mixture in the pit of her stomach. She squeezes, welcoming the weight against her shoulder when Yaz sags into her side and moulds against her form. 

She takes to tapping out her pulse against her palm again, grounding her to the steady rhythm until soft, shallow breaths even out against her neck. 

As always the case during a film, Yaz is asleep within minutes. 

* * *

_@denniesmithofficial 22 May 2020 [1:33PM]_

_hey fam! A quick reminder here that social isolation and being stuck inside all day can be one of the hardest situations for people with mental health issues, so keep your loved ones close and make sure you check in with your friends as often as possible. It’s a really uncertain time right now and just a simple show of support can make a big difference. Keep yourself safe and look out for each other x_

_@denniestan: oh no is yaz okay?_

_@idiotsroxming: is this about yaz? give her all our love <3 _

_@yazkhvn: : ( omg hope yaz is doing okay <3 _

_@softdennie: guys we should do something for yaz. who’s in?_

_@denniestan: YES_

_@chaosroaming: i’m so in_

_@softdennie 23 May 2002 [9:14AM]_

_we love you @yazkhans_

**_[video attached: it features a compilation of recorded messages from fans, each wishing her well and crediting her aid in their own experiences with mental health]_ **

* * *

“Babe,” Dennie murmurs, clambering onto the bed beside her friend and peeling the sheets back from her eyes gently. “Red, amber or green?”

In the past; back in the peeling paint and faulty electrics they’d called their university digs, they’d invented a code for times such as these. Red communicates the worst of the bad days, amber a mix of anxiety and confusion, but light enough to let her move about and function depending on her exhaustion — and green means she’s able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Yaz falters, lifting her head from her pillow to gauge her senses. When an invisible weight presses against her skull, she frowns, shaking her head slightly. Dennie’s heart sinks. “Amber — maybe by lunchtime, anyway.”

“That’s okay,” the blonde notes, dropping a kiss to her forehead when Yaz doesn’t flinch away. When she learns into it instead, Dennie smiles against the slightly clammy flesh. “I just wanted to show you something, if you’re up for it?” 

Turning, Yaz settles into the crook of Dennie’s shoulder and buries her nose into the dip of her collarbone. 

“Babe, I need your eyes, not the back of your head, as lovely as it is,” Dennie teases, waiting for her to peel back with a sleepy grumble before she settles her phone between them. “Um — so, some of your followers — they’ve made you a video.”

“A video?” Yaz murmurs, voice hoarse with sleep and lack of use. “About what?”

Dennie sniffs, just once, but it’s enough to catch Yaz’s confused gaze. “Just watch.”

“What’s—” Yaz takes a breath as the video starts, releasing it in a shaky exhale mid-way through. “Oh.”

Dennie holds her when the ten-minute video ends; presses her lips to the top of her head and swallows back the painful lump in her throat. “You are _so_ loved, Yaz.”

The day passes a little lighter and there’s a renewed look of determination on Yaz’s face whenever Dennie glances her way. 

Although she turns down a walk around the neighbourhood, Yaz still manages to muster the energy to eat a full meal and partake in more conversation than she had the day previous. 

And when Dennie proposes to run her a bath, she accepts gratefully. 

As per her request, she slips into the generously proportioned bathroom once Yaz has made herself comfortable under a sea of soapy bubbles. The steaming water laps at her collarbones when Dennie approaches, catching the blissed-out part to her lips and the way her eyes flutter shut in pleasure. 

“Bit overboard with the bubble bath, babe,” Yaz murmurs, blinking heavy eyes open. 

Dennie grins, settling a fresh deep blue towel and a pair of her own pyjamas on the side and slipping Yaz’s worn clothes into the hamper. She sinks to her knees beside the tub and keeps her gaze respectfully above Yaz’s shoulders. “You can _never_ have too much bubble bath, Yaz. That’s blasphemy.”

Yaz lifts her palm from the water to blow a cloud of bubbles her way, which catch at Dennie’s nose before falling to her lap. 

“And you say _I’m_ the childish one?” Dennie chides, reaching for the showerhead and tapping at Yaz’s shoulder. It’s always been somewhat of a ritual on bad days, even before the development in their relationship, but as Dennie wets her hair under the spray and combs her free hand through natural curls, it’s hard to contain the flush spreading up from her chest. Thoughts of the expanse of brown skin only just hidden from view send her pulse flitting and the tips of her ears burning in seconds. 

How on Earth had she kept her feelings so tampered down until now?

“Tip your head back a bit more, Yaz. Don’t want it going in your eyes,” Dennie instructs gently, her hand on a warm, solid shoulder. When it starts to burn like nettle stings beneath her fingers, she draws it back into dark locks. “Your hair’s getting pretty long now. Sure you don’t want me to give it a trim? Mates rates, promise.”

Yaz shivers — actually _shivers_ at the proposal — and Dennie’s tongue sweeps past her lips only to be caught by her teeth when she laughs. The sound echoes in the spacious, yellow tiled room. 

“Oi! It wasn’t _that_ bad last time,” Dennie protests, setting the showerhead aside to reach for her shampoo. Something about Yaz embraced in her scent makes the pit of her stomach churn pleasantly. 

“I had to wear a beanie twenty-four hours a day for a week before I could get it properly fixed, Dennie.”

“Okay, fine.” Dennie snorts when the squirt of liquid into her palm echoes in the room. Yaz rolls her eyes. “But you looked _cute_. Maybe I just wanted to see you in a beanie more often.” 

“That’s — that’s _not_ the way to go about it, babe.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” Dennie chuckles, working slim fingers through the interwoven strands and doing her best to tenderly loosen any knots in Yaz’s hair. 

She earns lidded eyes and a purr when she massages lightly at the base of her neck, working her thumbs in small circles against the tense muscles. “This okay?”

“ _God_ , yes,” Yaz breathes unashamedly, leaning back into her touch as though urging her to continue. 

“Picked up on this when we visited that _tranquility spa_ place in South Africa. D’you remember?” Dennie probes, moving onto the sides of her neck. She works her index and forefingers into the slender curve before gradually moving back up to her scalp to glide through a layer of honey-scented shampoo. There’s a delicate flush to Yaz’s cheeks when her gaze strays towards her prominent features. 

“Where you almost got mauled by a lion because you had a biscuit in your pocket?” 

“In my defence, I thought lions preferred more… meaty things.”

“Pretty sure they ain’t picky, babe.” 

“Yeah, I learnt that pretty quickly. Head back for me again, please, Yaz.”

The sound of pouring water echoes in the comfortable quiet that follows. Dennie rinses the shampoo from her hair and reaches for the bottle of conditioner on the side, shifting her position when her knees protest.

“Should’ve just joined me,” Yaz notes quietly when Dennie props herself onto the edge of the tub to continue her ministrations, and immediately the blonde baulks, hands faltering in her hair. 

As quickly as she’d said the words, Yaz seems to catch up with the meaning behind them and flush scarlet. “I mean — to make it easier for you to reach — and — and stuff.”

“Yeah?” Dennie teases, but her voice comes out a little higher than usual. “Not to see me with my kit off?” 

“ _Shut up_.”

When Dennie laughs, it gets a similar scoff of giggles from Yaz, and her chest tightens reflexively. It’s the first time she’s heard her laughter in a week and _God_ , she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it. “Maybe I’ll take up your offer next time, if you’re lucky.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

* * *

“If you tell Alexa to fart one more time, babe —” 

_“You have a scheduled ‘long and crispy fart’ for nine o’clock, Dennie Smith.”_

“ _Dennie_.”

“In my defence, I _did_ schedule that yesterday.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I really do. Oh — nuh-uh, no kissing.”

“ _Yaz_. If you kiss me, I’ll cancel it. Promise.”

“...”

“ _Please,_ Yaz. I just want one kiss.”

“Fine.”

“Brilliant! C’mere.” 

  
  


“Did you _purposely_ wait till nine for that? Oh my God, you’re the most immature person on the pl— oh. Wait — no, that’s not fair. You can’t just go _right_ for the neck.”

“Shh.”

“ _Dennie_.”

“That was a bit of a squelchy one, don’t you think? Solid three out of ten. Alexa, give me a short and loud fart.”

“Oh my _God_. I’m going to bed.”

* * *

Four long days after Yaz’s outburst, Dennie manages to coax her from her apartment for a walk. She’s been improving hour-by-hour, with only minor holdbacks. 

Today, her features are a little brighter and her steps more purposeful. 

Dennie bumps her healed hand against Yaz’s and interlocks their fingers before they slip from the complex and out onto quiet streets. When Yaz glances in her direction with a faint flush to her cheeks, Dennie winks at her from behind her sunglasses. 

“Y’know, if people see us like this, they’re gonna know right away.”

Dennie shrugs, squeezing her hand. “Worth it.” 

  
  


Begrudgingly, Dennie abides by the signage and manages to steer herself away from the playground in the middle of the park, not without a dramatic huff. 

“You big baby,” Yaz murmurs under her breath, dragging Dennie along beside her. 

“I was thinking of turning my spare room into a mini playground, actually,” Dennie supplies, popping her brows and baring a grin as though Yaz ought to be impressed — perhaps even swoon at her feet. “Swings, slides, monkey bars; the lot. What d’you think?”

“I think you’re mad,” Yaz counters, letting the other woman swing their clasped hands between them. 

“I’ve thought it all through, Yaz, and I reckon I could get the monkey bars secured into the ceiling, then the slide could go by the window and the swing in the — ice cream!”

Yaz snorts. “A swing in _ice cream_?” 

“No, _look_!” Dennie drags her toward an ice cream truck parked on the outskirts of the green, ignoring the dull protests from her thigh. “Ice cream!”

One plain vanilla ice cream and a concoction of all the flavours possible in another cone later, Dennie lets free a pleased groan. 

“This is amazin’.”

“No, that’s diabetes, babe. And it’s melting — oh my God do _not_ wipe ice cream on your shorts, you _actual_ child—” 

Dennie pauses, hand hovering in the air just shy of her dungaree shorts. With a shrug, she licks the tips of her fingertips clean, offers a blushing Yaz a smirk and delves back into her ice cream. 

“Oh my _God_ !” an unfamiliar voice echoes from somewhere further along the street, popping their bubble in a blink. The sound of skidding footsteps draws their attention to a slightly breathless teenage boy, who jumps on his toes a safe distance away while he refills his lungs. “Sorry! Sorry for shouting, I’m just — wow, oh my _God_ . Hi. I’m a huge fan — like, _massive_. You’re Dennie and Yaz, right?”

“That’s us,” Dennie beams, ice cream drooling down her hand and pooling in the tissue curled around the base of the cone. She spots the boy’s restrained laughter and glances down with a groan. “Aw, I swear ice cream hates me. It always does this.”

Rolling her eyes at the side of Dennie’s head, Yaz wordlessly hands the blonde another tissue. While she struggles, Yaz turns back to the boy. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Finn — I’m Finn,” the ginger-haired boy supplies, glossy locks falling over green eyes. “I’ve been watching your videos since I can remember. This is insane.”

“Thanks, mate,” Dennie chips in, half of her towering ice cream melting into the tarmac at her feet. “Sorry — I’m not usually this much of a mess. I wish we could give you a hug or something, but you know how it is.”

“Nah, she’s usually far worse,” Yaz gripes, sharing a conspiratory snigger with the boy. 

Finn grins, nodding his head. “I can believe that.”

“Oi!”

“Is — are your injuries okay now? I watched the video from the hotel place; it looked pretty nasty,” Finn adds, rocking shyly on the balls of his feet and reminding Dennie very much of a younger version of herself just starting out at university. Little did she know it was the best decision she’d ever make. 

Dennie nods sharply, baring a quick glance down at her leg. Just above the hem of her shorts, a thin reddish line burns in reminder. “Oh, yeah. Totally peachy now. Got a wicked scar, too. Wouldn’t recommend it, though, mate. Don’t think it’s worth it in the long run.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better though,” Finn notes in genuine empathy, cheeks pinkening when Yaz suddenly gasps as though he knows what’s coming next. 

Yaz’s hand seeks out Dennie’s elbow and Dennie blinks across at her in question. “Wait — Finn, were you in that video from a couple of days ago? I thought I recognised you.”

Dennie’s heart soars at the same time as Finn nods timidly. “Yeah — we thought you might have needed it.”

“Thank you, Finn,” Yaz praises with feeling, her grip tightening. “Genuinely, it meant so much. Thank you.”

Dennie resists the urge to pull the boy into a hug and tell him, truly, how much his words helped, but rules are rules, so she settles for her biggest smile yet. “She’s right; you did good, kid. And let your tweeting —”

“Twitter,” Yaz corrects automatically. 

“— _Twitter_ friends know that too,” Dennie finishes, then glances towards the phone in the boy’s hand. “And I know we can’t take a proper selfie, but if you wanted to take a video, we could wave from over here?”

“I will, definitely, yeah. I’m glad it helped,” Finn replies, sharing a telling gaze with Yaz before he stands back and unlocks his phone. Dennie finds herself admiring his actions, even more, when she spots the sympathetic smile on Yaz’s face. “Um — shall I just —” 

Dennie slings an arm around Yaz’s shoulders and pops the end of the cone past her lips so she has a hand free to wave. “Go for it, kid.”

Finn presses the familiar red circle at the bottom of the screen and Dennie waves with a mouth full and Yaz’s bemused gaze on her. 

A short video and a respectfully-distanced photo later, they’re on their way. 

* * *

_@denniestan: GUYS I SWEAR YOU AINT EVEN SUBTLE 25 May 2020 [12:30AM]_

_[_ **_image attached: it shows dennie and yaz walking away from the camera, hands interlocked. Dennie is kissing Yaz’s temple. The picture has been taken without their knowledge from someone across the street_ ** _]_

_@denniesclxwn: um so i met dennie and yaz today [_ **_video_ ** _]_

_@yasminkhxns: BRO,,,_

_@denniestan: WHATTTTT_

_@denniesyaz: come to brazil @idiotsroamingofficial_

_@BuzzFeed: Are Online Influencers Dennie Smith and Yasmin Khan Secretly Dating? Your Theories Here: https://www.buzzfeed.com/watch/video/1369 25 May 2020 [1:13PM]_

* * *

Over a korma the following night that Yaz had made without assistance, Dennie is submitted to a barrage of apologies and grateful thanks. 

Despite Yaz’s stubbornness, Dennie packs up each _thank you_ and _I’m so sorry for how I’ve been acting this last week_ and tosses them out through the open balcony doors.

“You’d do the same for me,” Dennie insists through a mouthful, sitting back to swallow before she continues. “And you can’t help it. It’s not your fault.”

Yaz seems to accept the response, head tilted. For the first time in a week, she doesn’t simply pick at her food. “ _Still_ — thank you, really. You didn’t have to go out of your way so much. I owe you one.”

“Yaz, it’s _fine_ ,” Dennie rebukes, reaching for her half-full glass of wine and taking a sip. She hums her approval. “I wanted to.”

When she next catches Yaz’s gaze, she finds her lips pursed as though there’s something on the tip of her tongue waiting to slip free. 

She waits patiently for another few seconds before nudging her toes along the arch of Yaz’s foot beneath the table in a successful bid to capture her attention. “Everything alright?” 

“I just — I really like you, Dennie,” Yaz supplies with warm cheeks and a self-conscious smile. “Like, a _lot_.”

Dennie’s heart sweeps up the channel to her throat and she beams down at her foot, stomach flipping in a now-familiar motion. When she looks up, Yaz quickly averts her gaze as though caught admiring something she shouldn’t. “I like you too, Yaz. So much it surprises me.”

“You and me both, babe,” Yaz scoffs quietly, lifting doe eyes when Dennie nudges at her ankle for her attention. 

Openly admiring her, Dennie grins lopsidedly. “I’ve — um — I’ve got to check the channel and update some things, but d’you maybe want to watch a film after that? We could pretend we’re at the cinema and make some popcorn and only pay half attention because we’re too busy snoggin’?”

Through laughter which carves itself into the space between Dennie’s ribs, Yaz tilts her head and pops her brows. “You asking me on a date?”

Dennie catches her tongue between her teeth and lets her gaze flit between amused eyes and laughing lips. “Maybe.”

* * *

She’s checking over this month’s statistics when a sudden sneeze leaves her clicking blindly at the mouse. Cursing the allergies spring encourages, she doesn’t have time to pause the video until a familiar sight comes into view. 

They hadn’t included the second half, out of respect, but it’s the first time she’s seeing the old, worn down hotel from the lens of Yaz’s camera. She watches as Yaz frightens her over the statue of an angel and then their mission to find a secret entryway to the penthouse. She keeps watching until the threadbare apartment comes into view and a pigeon disrupts their exploration. 

She flinches just in time for the image to fade from view and a warning about exploring responsibly takes centre stage. Then there’s a clip of her in her hospital bed, updating their audience on what happened. 

“Dennie,” Yaz murmurs from the doorway. How long had she been standing there? “You okay?”

“Peachy, yeah. Were you there the whole time?” 

“I heard you sneeze so I came to give you these.” Yaz rattles the bottle of antihistamines in her hand, then crosses the room fitted out with podcast equipment and their now shared desk. “What are you watching that for?” 

“Played it by accident. I — uh, I hadn’t watched it before now.” Phantom pain throbs at her thigh and she rubs it without thought, soothing the menace ache. 

She sees Yaz follow the movement in concern. “ _Babe_.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine — it’s just… weird, seeing it all from your perspective,” Dennie shrugs, leaning into the touch when Yaz smooths a hand along her shoulder to the back of her neck, fingers slipping through blonde strands in comfort. “Didn’t realise I had a wonky lip until now.”

Yaz’s laugh melts into her shoulder where she’s sunk into the desk chair at her side. “ _That’s_ what you got from it?”

“Do I really have a wonky lip, Yaz?” Dennie turns the chair to face her properly, lips pursed, going cross-eyed in an attempt to check. 

“Might need a closer look,” Yaz murmurs, breath hot on her mouth when she leans in. 

Dennie’s brows furrow. “Unless you have eyes in your mouth, Yaz, I don’t think you’re taking the right approach.”

“I’m — babe, I was trying to kiss you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well — don’t let me stop you. Very important task, that. Lots of focus needed.”

“Dennie?”

“Yes?” 

“Be quiet.” 

“Right, yeah. Of cour—” The rest of the sentence melts against Yaz’s mouth when it meets her own in a soft kiss. 

Yaz is tentative in her exploration, but Dennie has always been the more curious of them both. When Yaz parts her lips slightly for breath, Dennie curls a hand around her hip and slips her tongue into her mouth with a pleased hum. 

Kissing Yaz feels different this time, now they’ve slowly gotten to know each other’s weak spots and the ways to induce melodies from their throats. And as always, while it starts off tame, when Yaz skirts her teeth over her bottom lip and sucks, it turns hot and heavy in seconds. 

Emboldened, Yaz sweeps a hand into Dennie’s hair, loosening the ponytail keeping half of it away from her face. When she tugs experimentally, Dennie goes slack against her, letting free a muffled moan. 

Dennie’s hand tightens its hold against her hip, bunching the material of her orange sweatshirt between her fingers and drawing her closer. 

“C’mere,” Yaz hums against her lips, dropping a hand to her lower back and the other to her knee. 

Taking incentive, Dennie draws back if only to straddle Yaz’s lap, ignoring the wheezing protest of her chair. Yaz’s hands burn into her hips as soon as she settles, thumbs sneaking below her branded _Youtube_ t-shirt to seek out the warm skin beneath. 

Stomach muscles twitching, Dennie leans back in to chase her mouth, capturing and sucking at the plush expanse of her lower lip. At the same time as Yaz moans her approval, Dennie copies her movements, trembling fingers slipping beneath the hem of her top in a step further than they’ve reached before.

When her palm finds toned muscle and smooth skin, she gasps into Yaz’s mouth, an aching sort of pulse settling between her legs. Between the firmness under her fingers and the tongue swirling against her own, Dennie thinks she might combust there and then. 

She takes steadying gasps of air when Yaz traces the curve of her waist beneath her t-shirt, wondering if she can feel the way her heart starts to race beneath her ribs. “ _Yaz_ ,” she whimpers as Yaz finds the band of her thin sports bra, shaking like a leaf in the wind. 

“Dennie?” Yaz draws her lips back momentarily in concern, dilated pupils meeting dilated pupils in a twin eclipse. “This okay?” 

“ _Yes_. God, yes. Just — uh,” Dennie swallows heavily, taking in a lungful of hair and dispersing it shakily. “Just need a second to — uh — catch my breath.”

“That’s okay,” Yaz breathes a flustered laugh, wetting her lips before she presses the cool surface of them to Dennie’s throat. She walks her fingers along the horizontal band of her bra, then slips her fingertips beneath, all the while keeping her gaze set on her expression for any hesitation. “You feel amazing, by the way.”

_Well,_ Dennie thinks as she tips her head back and curls a hand around the back of Yaz’s neck, arching into her touch. _That’s just evil_. In reality, she lets free a whine she’d be embarrassed to admit to at a later date. 

“Can I touch you, babe?” Yaz purrs against her throat, and if Dennie wasn’t already soaked, she would be now. 

With a breathy moan, Dennie nods, and delicate, searching fingers find a tender nub underneath her bra. 

The second Yaz makes contact and begins to roll the bud between her fingers, Dennie’s hips shuck forward in a clumsy roll and she keens, gripping desperately at Yaz’s top. “Oh my _God_.”

“Wow, you’re _sensitive_ ,” Yaz breathes, blinking in surprise at Dennie’s response. 

There’s a question on her lips, Dennie can tell, and it makes her tremble with nerves. She tips her head back up to supply the answer in advance when —

On the desk next to her, her phone vibrates to life with a picture of Bill’s clown-painted face. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Yaz whines, glancing between the phone and Dennie’s pouting face. “D’you reckon it’s urgent?”

Nervousness overtaking arousal, Dennie nods with a grimace, toying at the hem of Yaz’s sweatshirt. “We should answer, just in case.”

Presumably taking note of Dennie’s hesitance with a curious glance her way, Yaz pulls back and helps her out of her lap. 

There’s no doubt that Bill notices their dishevelled, ruffled states when Dennie props up her phone and answers the video call, falling into the chair at Yaz’s side. She has to press her thighs together when Yaz shoots her a smirk just as it connects. 

“Hey, Bill! What’s up?” Yaz starts, letting Dennie compose herself a minute longer. 

_“Hey guys! Oh — wait, hold on, did I interrupt something?”_ Bill’s smirk — although she’s missed it — is too smug for her liking. 

“No,” Dennie replies, just as Yaz sighs “yes”. 

They share a look before, flustered, Dennie ducks her head. “Yes, you did. Now, what do you want?”

_“Oh my God, were you guys just about to —”_

“Shut up!” Dennie interrupts, face like putty when she pouts. “Was there a reason for the call, or are you just here to be annoying?” 

_“Aw, I missed you too! Been thinking of you every day, babes.”_

At her side, Yaz scoffs in amusement. Dennie glares at the side of her head. 

“It’s good to see you, Bill,” Yaz supplies, leaning against the desk on her elbows. “How’s it going on your end? How’s Clara?”

“Has she grown?” Dennie adds as though the comedy gods put her there for that comment alone. Yaz does not return her high five. 

_“Dennie, you’ve got korma on your t-shirt.”_ Bill’s tone is deadpan enough to make Dennie glance down at her top and _groan_ when she spots the residue. “ _Anyway, I was actually calling to tell you we’ve — uh — we’ve decided to break up. It’s cool; we’re totally fine, I just thought I’d let you know.”_

“Oh, shit,” Dennie breathes, guilt settling low in her gut. “I’m sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to make fun — ah, fuck. Now I feel like a dick.”

_“You might look like one, yeah, but don’t worry. You didn’t know. It’s alright, Den.”_

“Was it mutual, or— ?” Yaz asks in concern, gnawing at the edge of her nail. “Are you doing okay? If you need anything, we’re happy to help.”

_“It was only a matter of time, to be honest. She’s taking a job offer in Paris as soon as this is all over — she said it would really boost her career. I’m happy for her.”_ Bill’s smile is broader than usual and it becomes clear this isn’t a sudden development. She hasn’t looked so carefree in a while. 

“Well, as long as you’re okay,” Yaz insists, earning a swift nod from the woman on the other side of the screen. 

_“I’m good, Yaz. Really good, thanks. Anyway, did you guys see that BuzzFeed article yesterday? They’re totally onto you both. You aren’t even subtle. Not that you ever were, to be fair.”_

“Yeah, but it’s loads of fun,” Dennie shrugs with a grin, looping an arm around the back of Yaz’s chair. “I love seeing them lose their minds every time.”

_“You’re evil; I can’t believe you guys.”_

When Yaz leaves the room a short time later to grab a drink, Bill takes her chance. 

_“Oi, love bird, have you two… y’know?”_

Dennie’s cheeks warm without her consent and ducks her head, reaching for a ball made of rubber bands tucked in the stationary pots at the corner of her desk. Bouncing it against the wall above the screen, she shakes her head. “I don’t want to rush her.”

_“Oh, bugger off, mate. You’ve wanted into her pants for years. And have you_ **_seen_ ** _the way she looks at you? She totally wants to jump your bones.”_

A beat passes while Dennie fidgets restlessly, toying with the bands between her fingers. 

“ _What’s stopping you?”_

Another minute ticks by before Bill gasps, aligning with a thought, and Dennie braces herself with a grimace. 

_“You haven’t told her, have you?”_

“Nope,” Dennie whispers, popping the ‘p’. Her chest constricts and she’s so caught up she doesn’t hear the quietly approaching footsteps. 

_“Mate, you’re so dumb. Just tell her. She’ll understand. She’s Yaz; she’s basically the definition of empathetic.”_

Dennie groans, leaning on her elbows on the desk and burying her head in her hands. “What if I can’t do it right, Bill? _God_ , it’ll be the most embarrassing thing ever.”

From just outside the door, Yaz breathes a silent sigh, shaking her head in bemusement. 

_“Everyone’s shit their first time ‘round, Dennie. But it comes down to this; do you want to jump in her pants?”_

_“Bill_!” Dennie whisper-shouts, blushing hard. “That makes it sound like it’s not something special.”

_“Oh, mate, I knew you were the sentimental type. That’s gross.”_

Outside, Yaz all but swoons, heart lurching in her chest. 

“Shut up,” Dennie huffs, dragging a palm over her face. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now.” 

_“Believe me, I’m going to have my ears cut off after this so I won’t have to give you a sex talk ever again. Just let it happen naturally, okay, mate? And then give me all the details afterwards so I can live through you.”_

“That’s gross.”

_“So are you, babes.”_

“Everything okay in here?” Yaz asks, feigning obliviousness as she walks in with two glasses of lemonade. 

“Fine, yeah — we were just discussing —”

_“The best porn sites.”_

“Video ideas.”

Dennie gawps, already pinkened cheeks warming further. “You’re hilarious, Bill.”

* * *

Much later, Yaz tucks in against Dennie’s side with a kiss to her cheek, and the blonde curses the red flush which follows the action. “Babe, you should’ve told me.”

“Told you?” Dennie peels her gaze away from the screen just after a female assassin uses a victim’s asthma and a bottle of perfume against them in a ruthless murder. “Told you what?”

“That you’re... y’know.” Yaz gestures blindly at her, earning a scrunched nose and narrowed eyes. 

“Gay? Uh, I figured that was pretty obvious, Yaz.”

“No, you dumbo,” Yaz laughs, nudging at her shoulder. Suddenly, it’s her who’s blushing. Dennie can feel it resonating from her side. “What I mean is — I heard your conversation with Bill, earlier.”

All at once, Dennie baulks, averting her gaze to suddenly fidgeting hands. Her blonde hair falls forward, curtaining her embarrassed expression. “How much did you hear?”

“Most of it,” Yaz supplies, reaching out to tuck some of Dennie’s hair behind a decorated ear. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping — I really didn’t mean to. But you know I don’t mind, right?”

“You can say it’s embarrassing, Yaz,” Dennie mumbles, slumping back against the purple sofa. “I’m twenty-five and I’m still a virgin,” she admits, drawing her knees up to her chest. 

“Babe,” Yaz starts, sitting up and reaching for Dennie’s restless hands. “I really don’t care. You could be _forty_ and still a virgin and I’d still fancy the pants off you. You could’ve _slept_ with forty people and I’d still want you.”

Dennie blinks soft green eyes her way, brows lifting in pleasant surprise. “You’ll still fancy me when I’m forty?” 

“Seriously? That’s what you got from that?” Yaz laughs, shaking her head. Her smile brightens tenfold when Dennie scoffs in return. “What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t feel embarrassed, babe. It’s a first for us both — it’s not like I’ve slept with a woman before.”

“Oh — oh, yeah,” Dennie breathes, eyes widening. “There was that Danny bloke, right? Danny Beeswax?”

“Biswas.”

“I didn’t like him.”

“I know you didn’t. You’re not great at subtlety, Den.”

“Hey! I can be subtle. I can be the king of subtlety.”

“Okay, babe.”

  
  


“Thank you,” Dennie murmurs a short time later, reclaiming her place as the big spoon with an arm tucked securely around Yaz’s waist. She presses her cool nose against the back of Yaz’s neck, just under an intricate plait, and follows the development of goosebumps across her skin. 

“For what?” Yaz returns, linking fingers with the hand at her waist and trying desperately not to think of pebbled, wanting flesh beneath her fingertips. 

“For not judging me,” Dennie finishes. “About the — about the sex thing.”

Yaz lifts Dennie’s hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

  
  


“Dennie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, Yaz.”

  
  



	4. the next step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! hope you're all staying safe atm x
> 
> warning for smut! if that ain't ur thing might i recommend u stop reading after they get back from the pub <3
> 
> hope u enjoy! x

_bill [9:31PM]: drinks @ the dalek bar at 8 tomorrow?_

_dennie the brilliant [9:34PM]: thought u were scared of that place_

_bill [9:34PM]: thought i kicked u from this chat_

_yaz [9:34PM]: children_

_dennie the brilliant [9:35PM]: bill smells_

_bill [9:36PM]: tame ur lover yaz_

_dennie the brilliant [9:36PM]: dont say it dont say it dont say it_

_dennie the brilliant [9:36PM]: at least i’ve got one_

_yaz [9:37PM]: oooh shit_

_bill [9:37PM]: low blow dennie_

_bill [9:38PM]: u better watch ur back. i have so much blackmail material on u my sweet child_

_bill has changed dennie the brilliant’s nickname to next victim_

_next victim [9:39PM]: fuck_

Yaz’s last day away from her flat comes too soon, but when she wakes up to a series of grunts and gasps echoing in from the hallway — one could also argue it doesn’t come soon enough. 

Hazy with sleep and taming her hair to no avail, Yaz slips from blue sheets to seek out the source of the kerfuffle. 

What she doesn’t expect to find is Dennie walking through the apartment in muddied brown socks with heavily grazed knees and an offending pair of dirtied, scuffed roller skates. 

The instant Yaz breathes a gasp, Dennie jerks her gaze up from the inspection of her once white socks and bears a grin far too bright for her current state. “Hiya, Yaz! Sorry, did I wake you?” 

“Dennie, what on Earth happened?” Yaz interrupts in concern, watching on as Dennie bends to set her roller skates down and hides a wince. “Go and sit down. I’m going to need to clean those knees up.” 

“Relax, Yaz, I’m fine. Just a scrape, I promise.” Dennie offers in dismissal, but flinches once more when she reaches for the kettle and catches a small cut on her palm. She retracts her hand like it’s scolded. Her next words are rasped through gritted teeth. “Absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Yaz folds her arms. “Dennie.”

“Fine! Fine, it might sting a bit.” Resignedly, Dennie slumps into her beloved purple sofa, grimacing through a hiss. 

Reaching for the mini first aid kit she’d given Dennie as a housewarming gift when she’d first moved in, Yaz plucks out a handful of antiseptic wipes and rainbow-gradient plasters. “Looks like one hell of a fall, babe. What happened?”

“I was taking a video, y’know, and I thought I’d give those bad boys a spin because they were collecting dust,” Dennie starts, jumping at the first touch of the wipe against the sensitive, broken flesh of her right knee. “And then I saw a dog. Yaz, he were _gorgeous_ ; you should’ve seen him. A golden retriever, I think — anyway, so he looks my way, and of _course,_ I wanted to be polite and say hello, so I headed over the road to get him on camera and give him a pet, then — ah _, ow,_ Yaz.”

Yaz muffles a snicker, half at the story and half at the childlike way Dennie reacts to the dab of damp material against the outside of her skinned knee. “Sorry, babe. Trying my best.”

“So I picked up my speed so I could have a chat with him before he runs back to his owner, and there’s a pothole in the middle of the road, apparently. An _invisible_ one, Yaz. I caught my blade on it, it turned me around and I started going down the hill instead.” 

“Wait, the hill by the chip shop around the corner? The one which leads onto the main road?”

Dennie nods gravely. “Got saved by a dustbin in the end. Pretty comfy. Solid seven out of ten. Should’ve left a note, though, in hindsight; there’s a bit of a dent in the side.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Dennie,” Yaz whisper-shouts, settling a plaster over her right knee before she moves on to the next one. “D’you remember when I told you to be more careful in the future? Literally a couple of months ago?”

Dennie bites her lip when she looks up from her rainbow-decorated knee to Yaz. “Yeah?”

“ _This_ is precisely what I meant.”

“Wh — Yaz, the pothole was _invisible_ ,” Dennie insists through wide, innocent eyes and lips parted in shocked protest. “And you can’t tell me not to talk to dogs anymore, Yaz. I love dogs.”

“I’m not trying to say _that_ — look, forget it. Just watch your speed next time, okay?” 

Her surprise turns to curiosity right before Yaz’s eyes. “D’you reckon the police could _actually_ catch me for speeding on those?” 

“I don’t know, babe. But I’d also rather not find out, to be honest, so don’t go getting any ideas.” When Yaz finds Dennie’s expression retaining intrigue, she peels another plaster free of its adhesives and sets it against her other knee with a tut. “They might not have custard creams in prison. D’you really want to risk it?”

“Oh.” Dennie baulks, eyes widening. “In that case — definitely not, no.” 

Yaz laughs, the sound catching Dennie’s attention and coaxing a grin in return. “Thought not. Let me see your hand?” 

Like an injured puppy, Dennie reluctantly offers up her palm. She grits her teeth at the first swipe against the sensitive flesh. 

It’s an artificial cut, so Yaz manages to have it cleaned and plastered up in seconds. She sits back on her heels once she’s done, pressing a kiss to the coloured material. “All done. Any other injuries I should be worried about?” 

“No, just a bit sore.”

“Your pride or your body?”

“Ha-ha.”

“Did you say you were taking a video?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can I watch —” 

“No! Absolutely not. Never in a million years, Yaz.”

  
  


“Oh, my _God_ ,” Yaz all but sobs at the tail end of her laughter, tears clinging to her bottom lid and both arms clutched around her stomach. 

“ _Yaz_ ,” Dennie huffs from her side, scooting up to the other end of the couch and huffing like a grumpy teenager denied permission to attend a party. “It’s not funny.”

“Babe, come on,” Yaz snickers, tapping Dennie’s phone screen to replay the video for a second time. Again, she strains her stomach muscles and again, she laughs until she’s on the verge of tears. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. When you said you hit a dustbin, I didn’t think you’d actually somersaulted over it after.”

The couch at her side shifts when Dennie stands up, arms folded and pride diminishing by the second. “You’re the worst,” she grumbles before disappearing into the kitchen with a faint limp.

One more replay of the video and another choked round of laughter later, Yaz seeks the blonde out. She presses _upload_ seconds before she rounds the corner and enters the kitchen. 

Leant against the counter with a custard cream in hand and another crunching noisily between her teeth, Dennie narrows her brows as she watches Yaz approach. “If you’re coming in here to say any more about that bloody video, I swear I’m going to —”

Yaz snickers, looping an arm around Dennie’s waist once she’s close enough. Just behind Dennie’s form sits the kettle, which she flicks on with an added kiss to her nose. She sets Dennie’s phone down on the countertop beside it. “I’m done, babe. I’m here to apologise. Promise.” 

Dennie hums in doubt, gaze flitting between her eyes and expression to gauge any tells that Yaz is lying. “Don’t believe you.”

“I’m sorry for making fun of you, Dennie,” Yaz murmurs, brown eyes filled with innocence. “And I’m making you your favourite hot chocolate to prove it.”

Dennie shuffles out of the way once the kettle has boiled, still eyeing her in suspicion. “Still doubting, babe.” 

With her nose scrunched in distaste, Yaz reaches for the hot chocolate powder, adds a couple of spoonfuls to a mug from their merchandise collection, and crumbles a custard cream into the mixture. “You really think I’d openly offer you a mug of diabetes if I weren’t sorry, babe?”

“It’s not _diabetes_ , Yaz,” Dennie huffs, peering into the mixture when Yaz adds milk to judge the ratio of ingredients. “It’s called having taste.”

“Mm-hm.” Yaz hums in sarcastic agreement, watching Dennie nudge a mason jar of mini marshmallows closer like a sneaky feline. She plucks up a can of whipped cream and layers the top of the liquid generously before adding a handful of marshmallows on top. 

To Dennie’s quiet, telling whine, she scatters another few on top and finishes up with another custard cream. “Happy now?”

Dennie takes a sip with the patience of a famished puppy, barely wincing when the steaming drink hits her tongue. When she responds, it's with the addition of a creamy coating just above her top lip. “Very. Thanks, Yaz. S’brilliant.”

“Forgiven me yet?”

“Sure. You’re too loyal to share it with anyone else, anyway.”

At the same time as Yaz grimaces, Dennie’s phone chimes with a new notification. Then another, and another, and _another_. 

“There’s a new video up on our channel,” Dennie reveals when she scoops up her phone, brows pinching together in confusion. “But we didn’t schedule anything…” She trails off as she aligns with a new thought. 

Yaz backs up.

The penny drops. “Yaz, did you —” 

Yaz bites down hard on her bottom lip to keep her amusement at bay as Dennie glares holes in her skull. “Yaz, you said you wouldn’t do anything else!”

“I mean — technically, I never said _that_ , but...” Yaz backs up again, turning for Dennie’s bedroom. “Sorry, babe.”

Dennie grumbles. “You’re not sorry at all, you little—” 

Yaz glances up at the clock ticking away above the door. “Is that the time? I should be getting changed to go for a run.” Before Dennie can close the distance any more, she bolts into the bedroom and locks the door shut behind her with a squeak. “Back out in a tick, babe!”

* * *

_bill [11:12AM]: dennie wtf ur such a mess mate_

_bill [11:12AM]: are you okay???_

_next victim [11:13AM]: im fine!!! yaz wont let me take the video down :(_

_bill [11:13AM]: tell her i love her_

_next victim [11:13AM]: :(((((((_

_bill [11:14AM]: karma works in mysterious ways babes x_

* * *

_@denniestan 5 June 2020 [11:21AM]: OHMYGOD WHO POSTED THE VIDEO OF DENNIE ON THE IDIOTS ROAMING CHANNEL WTFGFHSJJHGFF WHAT A CLOWN HOW IS SHE STILL WITH US_ _  
__@gaysroxming: @denniestan i s2g i BET it was bill they’re always annoying each other_

_@softdennie: @denniesmithofficial ARE YOU OKAY HUN DID YALL MEAN TO POST THAT???????_

_@YazKhans 5 June 2020 [11:30AM]: : ) _

_@fourgayidixts: @YazKhans YAZ OHNMFHFBDHHDBDHGJHGDHJGFHJFGHJG OF COURSE U POSTED IT_

_@yasminkhxns: @YazKhans just when u think u know someone x_

* * *

The responses to the video manage to make Yaz’s mission for forgiveness a lot easier. Once she’s back from her routine run around the neighbourhood, Dennie is already in the kitchen with an ice-cold glass of water in hand.

“Good run?” she asks, cheeks pinkening in flustered surprise when Yaz lifts the hem of her tank top to halt a bead of sweat running down the side of her face. 

Dragging the material over her forehead and cheeks and eagerly accepting the glass, Yaz takes a long, much-needed swig of water. 

Except — 

“Dennie, did you put _salt_ in here?”

The blonde’s eyes present only mirth and she snickers like a schoolchild having succeeded at a grand prank. “Yep,” she confirms, popping the ‘p’ and rocking on her heels as though ready to run. 

“Dick move, Dennie,” Yaz singsongs, glancing down at her glistening arms and sweat-dampened running gear. “D’you want a hug?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Aw, babe. I thought you loved hugs?”

“Yasmin Khan, get your sweaty paws off me and take a shower.”

“You think I smell?”

“No, you’re — Yaz, you smell lovely. You always smell lovely. I didn’t mean — mmph!”

“Gotcha. You’re too nice for your own good, babe.”

* * *

Much later, with her essentials packed up and ready to go at the door to Dennie’s flat, Yaz changes into a pair of cuffed black skinny jeans and a loose blouse in readiness for their first outing with Bill in months. 

She’s ruffling still slightly damp curls when she hears Dennie humming a _Coldplay_ hit under her breath just outside the door. 

“You decent, Yaz?” the blonde quips from the other side of the wooden panelling, followed by the tap of restless fingers against the door. 

“Yeah, yeah, almost ready to go. Come on in, babe.”

Yaz turns around when Dennie wonders in to glance appreciatively over her choice of outfit. 

She’s always looked good in culottes, but the blue jean pair she wears are ridiculously adorable. A white and green horizontal-striped t-shirt continues the outfit northwards, as well as Yaz’s borrowed leather jacket. That said, she doubts she’s ever getting it back. 

Following her lithe thighs and slim legs down, however, Yaz groans. “Please don’t tell me you’re seriously going out for drinks in _those_ , Dennie.” 

“What?” Dennie huffs, dropping her gaze to the aqua-blue Crocs hugging her rainbow socked feet. “What’s wrong with these?”

Yaz takes in a slow breath through her nose, barely blinking, and runs through the diagnosis for whatever fashion sense the woman she’s dating suffers from. It was all going so well; suave, even, before the devil sicked up on her feet. “If you promise not to wear them, I’ll get the first round of drinks. _And_ you can keep that jacket.”

“Pfft,” Dennie scoffs, kicking the offending footwear off and shaking her head in bemusement. She reaches for a pair of trusty white Converse instead, much to Yaz’s relief. “Honestly, I can’t understand why you hate them so much, Yaz. You should give them a try sometime.”

“Think I’d rather burn them, babe.”

“Don’t worry, guys. She didn’t mean that.” She hears Dennie croon to the gruesome pair as she turns back to the mirror. 

Plucking a dark red shade of lipstick from her makeup bag, she follows the line of full lips until they’re sufficiently coated before tucking it into her pocket and double-checking the rest of her thin layer of makeup. 

Upon swivelling back to face Dennie, Yaz notes smugly that her painted lips seem to have an instantaneous effect.

Three steps away, Dennie pauses amidst applying perfume scented by familiarity and a hint of old spice. It’s as though she can’t quite work out where to look with the continuous flit of hazel pupils between Yaz’s eyes and mouth. “You’re wearing lipstick.”

Catching onto the faint rasp to her tone, Yaz’s coy smirk comes easily. “How does it look? I thought I’d try something new.”

Setting the green-tinted bottle aside, Dennie closes the distance between them to take a closer look. She hooks a finger through Yaz’s belt loop once she’s near enough, allowing Yaz to take the initiative to curl her arms around her neck. “I really like it. God, you’re so —” 

With a huff, Dennie uses her free hand to gesticulate blindly, lips parted around a tongue momentarily unemployed by speech.

“Wow,” Yaz laughs, cupping her jaw to catch her flustered gaze. “Never made you speechless before. You love talking — I can hardly ever make you stop.”

“Can I kiss you?” Dennie blurts before Yaz can continue, wetting her lips in open temptation. 

Yaz slides her hand around from her jaw to the back of her neck, drawing her in. “Whenever you want, babe. You don’t have to ask.”

“So, would now be good with you?” Dennie queries, words falling in a warm flurry over her lips. She rests her forehead against Yaz’s, both of them breathing each other in respectively.

“You’d better find out.”

When Dennie finally closes the remaining distance and greets her lips, Yaz can’t help the sigh which falls between them. Reaching for the lapel of her leather jacket, she draws her even closer, parting her lips for Dennie’s curious tongue. 

Arms slinging low, Dennie squeezes her hip while she grants herself a taste of Yaz’s lipstick. 

When she retracts her tongue to bite down against the flesh instead, something in Yaz’s stomach flips and surges southwards. 

The wall beside the bedroom door falls victim to their heated kisses when Yaz walks Dennie the handful of steps back into it and earns a mischievous giggle in return. 

The hand at her hip moves, emboldened fingers splaying across the curve of Yaz’s backside to coax their hips into moulding against each other. 

“How —” Yaz’s breath catches when Dennie ducks her head to seek out her pulse, mapping it beneath her tongue. “How long have you been wanting to do that for?” she rasps, motioning to Dennie’s wandering hand. 

“Too long,” Dennie hums against her throat, the reverberations alongside her cool nose making Yaz shiver. 

By the time she’s lathered her neck in enough attention to leave Yaz putty in her hands, Dennie’s voice has dropped in pitch and her hips are trembling. “Yaz?” 

“Yeah?” Yaz pants faintly, following the line of her jaw with tender kisses in rebuke. 

“D’you think… after we see Bill, we could…” 

Another flood of heat engulfs Yaz’s form and she swallows, lifting her gaze to meet dilated pupils and pink cheeks. “Yes! I mean — yeah, that would be cool. We could definitely do that — whatever that is. You can stay at mine if you like?”

Coyly, Dennie leans back in to capture her lips; firm, a little needy and conveying much more than words. “Brilliant. We should probably…” 

“Go, yeah. Don’t want Bill biting our heads off for being late.” Yaz straightens up, puffing her cheeks out in an effort to tame the urge just to lean back in and — 

Dennie gets there first, dragging her forwards to draw all the oxygen from her lungs in one heady kiss. “Five more minutes.”

* * *

“Over here, idiots!” Bill’s voice carries from the entrance to their usual bar, where she’s perched at a rustic garden table in waiting. “You’re late. What kept you guys so long?”

When Yaz and Dennie trade similarly sheepish looks, Bill groans. “Actually, don’t answer that. The beer garden’s open at the back; shall we?”

As usual, the bar is bustling with patrons, but after winding through the tables with a hand in Dennie’s, they manage to fight through the crowds and into the cosy garden lit by the evening sun. 

Choosing a wooden table painted in rainbow colour next to an exterior heater, Dennie settles down opposite Bill and Yaz sinks into the space at her side. 

“How are your roller skates, Den? Tried them out recently?”

Dennie rolls her eyes, sparing a playful glare towards Yaz when she has to muffle her amusement for fear of alarming the rest of the patrons with her laughter. “Don’t.”

“Hope you apologised to the owner of that poor bin.”

“I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Leaning against the table with her arms crossed, Yaz finds she’s missed her best friends’ petty back and forth arguments more than she thought. 

When she stands to fetch the first round of drinks, leaving them to bicker between themselves like their worst enemies respectively, she fixes them both with a chiding look. “Can I trust you both not to kill each other before I get back?”

“‘Course,” Dennie shrugs, just as Bill replies with “What if only one of us gets killed? Does that count?”

The bar is busy and warm and sweaty when Yaz heads inside and queues up, tapping her purse against her palm in a four-beat rhythm to stop any anxiety rising to the surface. 

From the entranceway to the garden, she can spot Dennie’s swinging legs and a flash of sunlit blonde, and it’s enough to fend off any unwanted paranoia until she’s reached the front of the line. 

One murmur of recognition from a patron, two gin and lemonades and a beer later, Yaz turns back for their table. 

What she finds — while she’s grown not to become surprised — is still not what she had expected. 

At the other end of the garden, Dennie bats frantically at her clothing and hair as though fighting an invisible force. In her wake, a parasol sits quite pathetically on its side and another table has tumbled over, crushing a potted plant in the process. 

From her side, Bill plucks a bottle of beer from her hand and takes a swig between bouts of laughter. 

“There was a wasp on her nose,” she offers by way of explanation. “I told her not to move and she bolted, mate.” 

  
  


“Again, I’m _really_ sorry, Graham. Are you sure I can’t pay for any damages? Or — uh, buy you a new plant?”

“You’re alright, love,” the middle-aged owner informs Dennie, and, together with his dark-skinned grandson, they reposition the chairs and tables and sweep up the rest of the soil. “Never really liked that plant anyway. You saved me an argument with the wife.”

As soon as Dennie sits down and glances sheepishly her way, Yaz arches a playful brow. “I _literally_ can’t take you anywhere, babe.” 

Behind a glass coated with beads of perspiration, Dennie flushes. “Sorry, Yaz.”

Bill clears her throat. “Whipped.”

* * *

“So, I was thinking — once I’ve fixed up the ol’ girl for long trips again, we could do another road trip?” Dennie pipes up once Bill is back from a visit to the restroom, tucking one of her legs up against her chest before digging her phone out of her pocket. “Found some places we could stop off on the way, but I was thinking we could stay in Italy for the most part?”

Bill scoffs. “Thinking with your stomach again, obviously.”

“Nothing wrong with that, Bill. Italian food is brilliant,” Dennie insists around a noisy slurp of gin through her straw. 

“So — a European tour, you’re saying?” Yaz chips in, swirling the liquid in her glass. It’s a little too sugary for her tastes, as displayed in Dennie’s bouncing leg. She drops a hand to her thigh to calm the continuous movements. 

“Yeah. Keep it simple; we can camp out most nights, like in the states, but there are also some _brilliant_ abandoned sites to visit. Apparently most of them are even haunted.” She opens up an application on her phone and slides the device towards Bill. “This is the route I picked out — it takes us right along the Amalfi coast. There’s another route which goes along the Stelvio Pass, but that’s up to you guys. And, if the TARDIS isn’t fit enough for the drive, we could always take an RV.”

“Oh, mate,” Bill enthuses eagerly, nodding along to Dennie’s suggestions. If there’s one thing they both work well together on, it’s planning routes for their trips. “I’m so down. Shall I let the sponsors know?” 

“That’d be ace, yeah. Not great at that kinda stuff; they always ask for an older adult to sort it.”

Yaz blinks. “Babe, you’re twenty-five.”

“That’s what I told them! Apparently they still don’t think I’m reliable enough with all the money,” Dennie protests, taking another noisy sip through her rainbow straw. 

“Probably wise, to be honest,” Bill murmurs under her breath, navigating off the page and diving instead into Dennie’s video library. 

Yaz doesn’t have to see the screen to know which video Bill presses _play_ on. 

At her side, Dennie _groans_ , just as her videoed self starts squealing and cursing, plastic blades protesting against tarmac. “ _Seriously_ , fam? I’m going to get another drink.”

Bill pats her elbow on the way past, smug as ever. “Could you grab me a cider, mate?”

“ _No_ ,” Dennie grumbles, coaxing another round of teasing laughter. 

She’s still pouting to herself when she heads up to the freshly opened outdoor bar within earshot of their table. 

Once Bill is done watching the video, Yaz catches her in the act of sending it to her own mobile and submits her to a playfully chiding glare. 

She doesn’t stop her, though. 

“So, any progress in the bedroom department?” Bill questions outright now she has her alone, wriggling her eyebrows in suggestion.

Yaz chokes on a mouthful of gin but composes herself quickly. “ _Bill_.” 

“What? I’m interested.” Bill’s hands raise, palms open. “And it’s not like I’m getting any at the moment.”

“How are you doing, by the way? It must still be pretty fresh.” Yaz plucks the reusable metal straw from Dennie’s empty glass to swill her drink, then take a sip. 

“I know deflection when I hear it, Yaz. God, you’re so domestic already.”

“ _What?_ No, we’re not.”

“Yaz, babe, you’re drinking from her straw. Plus she’s wearing your jacket.” 

Yaz glances up from her drink to cast her gaze across at the lithe blonde, unconsciously licking her lips. “She looks cute in it though, doesn’t she?” 

“You’re so gross for each other it’s almost cute. This next trip is going to be a vagfest for you two, isn’t it?”

“ _Bill_ ,” Yaz repeats, burying her face in her hands to hide her embarrassment. She squeaks quietly into her palms when Bill just repeats the question again. 

“Have you guys even—” Yaz peels her hands away just in time to see her gesturing crudely with her fingers. “— yet? Because there’s some definite tension going on still.”

“We’ve gone a bit further, but… not really got to that point yet.” Yaz rolls her shoulders in a shrug, trying not to blush and failing. “She’s staying at mine tonight.”

Bill’s brows raise and she smirks around the lip of her beer bottle. “Interesting. You better keep me updated,” she drawls, then grimaces and motions to the blonde in question. “Um — I think someone’s trying to steal your girl.”

“What? No, she’s just being chatty. You know what Dennie’s like,” Yaz counters, though she turns to better face her anyway. “She could make conversation with a squirrel if she wanted — she has, more than once.” 

When the brunette standing beside Dennie at the bar reaches out to touch a hand to her elbow while Dennie fidgets awkwardly, however, something inside Yaz sets aflame. “I should probably…. see if she needs help carrying anything.”

Abandoning her drink at the table, Yaz stands to Bill’s jeering “Atta girl” and heads over in an unfamiliar surge of possessiveness. 

“Hey, babe,” Yaz croons into Dennie’s ear once she’s close enough, curling an arm around her waist from behind and dropping a kiss to the side of her neck. “Who’s your friend?” 

Eyes widening and touch retracting as though Dennie’s skin were made of magma, the pretty, curvy brunette swallows heavily. “I was just…” In an instant, she scampers away, following the tiled path back into the pub. 

Just as quickly, Dennie relaxes back against her, blowing her cheeks out in a relieved exhale. “Thanks for saving me there, Yaz.” 

Yaz’s possessive streak shifts into concern and she maintains her hold on her waist — this time as a form of protection. “You okay? She didn’t try anything weird, did she?” 

“No, no, she just —” Dennie blushes, stepping up when her drinks appear on the counter. “I’m not used to _that_ kind of attention. It’s —” she chuckles, and Yaz has never heard her sound so shy. “It’s usually you guys that get it, that’s all. Still don’t quite know how to react.”

“Babe,” Yaz breathes, scooping up Bill’s cider and letting Dennie grab her own drink — a lemonade, since she’s driving. “You’re a catch, believe me.” 

“No, wait, what I mean is — I only — Yaz, I only like it when _you_ look at me like that.”

Flummoxed, Yaz can only blink at the woman the world turns for, gazing at her as though trying to send a message telepathically while her words have stopped churning.

“That’s the look,” Dennie all but sighs, lashes fluttering, her throat bobbing with a heavy swallow. “The one you’re giving me now.”

“I really want to kiss you right now, Jayden.”

Dennie’s cheeks pinken and she flits dilating pupils back towards the table where Bill sits watching on in intrigue. 

Her gaze returns, rich and heady. “Restroom in five minutes?” she whispers conspiratorially. 

Yaz nods, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth and trying to tamper her excitement. It’s like the university ball all over again — but this time with a much better kisser. 

Bill furrows her brow at the display on their journey all the way back to the table. “Were you two having a moment there? Dennie, why are you all pink?”

“Shut up and drink your cider.”

“You got me one? Aw, Den. Thanks. You’re the best.” 

Dennie groans when Bill reaches out to ruffle her hair like an irritating sibling. In a way, it’s sort of the same dynamic — Yaz concludes, thinking back to petty arguments with her sister. 

When Dennie slips into the seat beside her, Yaz drops a hand to her thigh and squeezes, revelling in the blush she spots rising up her slender neck. 

“Have you seen your mum since all this kicked off, Den?” Bill quips, dragging them both out of their reverie and dumping them back into the present. 

“I stopped by a couple of times, yeah. I’m meant to call her later, actually; She said she’s found a whole list of conspiracies we can look into for our next video.” Dennie takes a sip of her drink while Yaz takes note to remind her of the call — she has the memory of a goldfish, at times; it’s a wonder she remembers her own name. 

“Oh, dude. What a _legend_. Sarah-Jane always comes through with the best stuff,” Bill enthuses. “She’s pretty fit, too; got the whole package. Is she still single?”

Dennie’s groan is one of disgust. “Oh my _God_ , please don’t talk about her like that. We might not be blood-related but she’s still my _mum_.”

“What d’you think, Yaz? Having me as your mother in law?” 

“I think you need to get laid.”

“Agreed. What’s her number, Dennie?” 

“No, I didn’t mean — sorry, babe. She twisted my words.”

  
  


Like a mischievous feline five minutes later, Dennie nudges her drink until it sits precariously on the edge of the table, _just to see what happens_. 

Yaz follows her movements in the corner of her vision, toeing the plastic cup closer and closer to the verge. 

Two more nudges and a faint squeak later, the cup pitches forward and the last dregs of lemonade sink into her jeans. “Shit.”

Bill snaps a picture just before Yaz shakes her head in a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You can’t honestly say you didn’t know that would happen, right?” 

“You never know, Yaz. My mum said there was a theory that gravity isn’t real and we’re all just puppets being controlled by giant space whales,” Dennie asserts with an expression earnest enough that Yaz doesn’t know whether to laugh it off or do a hasty internet search.

“You’re bonkers, mate.” Bill groans, dropping her head into her hands. “Wouldn’t mind hearing one of her bedtime stories, though.”

“Please stop — that’s a new level of gross,” Dennie barks back, ringing out the bottom of her t-shirt and flicking a splash of lemonade Bill’s way. She slips from her chair to stand, then, exposing the damp patch at her thigh. “I’m going to go clean myself up.”

On her way inside, Dennie flashes Yaz a suggestive smirk, wetting her lips. 

Yaz makes it ten seconds before fishing her phone from her pocket and briskly holding it to her ear. Bill might be an actor, but Yaz has had her fair share of awkward conversations where she’s had to use this trick. “Crap, It’s Sonya. I’d better take this. She’s got a date tonight.”

“Nice one, Son! Tell her good luck from me.”

The bathrooms are empty apart from the blonde standing beside the dryer still dabbing at her jeans. As soon as she spots Yaz approaching, though, she reaches out to drag her in.

She’s too busy giggling to respond to Dennie’s kiss at first, but when the blonde pulls her flush against her and leans back into the sink, she presses closer with a hum of approval. 

“How’d you get away with it?” Dennie whispers between kisses, looping her arms around Yaz’s neck and slipping a hand into her hair. 

Yaz curls her thumbs through her belt loops, dragging her tongue along her bottom lip and lapping up the lemony tang clinging to her pink flesh. “I said I had a call from Sonya. I feel like a teenager doing this.”

Holding back a purr, Dennie drops a hand to Yaz’s hip, then slips it into the back pocket of her jeans and squeezes just to swallow Yaz’s resultant gasp. 

“Someone could…” Yaz starts before Dennie ducks her head, popping the top button of her blouse so she can press her mouth to the base of her neck. “ _Dennie_ , someone could walk in any second.”

They’re granted another minute or so of glorious privacy before footsteps echo towards the door and they spring apart in the disguise of washing their hands. 

Going by Dennie’s still heaving chest and the buttons popped open on Yaz’s blouse, their antics are more than obvious to the middle-aged woman who squeezes into a cubicle with a whispered “ _Bloody gays.”_

Re-buttoning her blouse, Yaz allows Dennie to steal one more peck before they make a hasty escape. 

Yaz is wiping at the corner of her mouth to rub off her smudged lipstick when Dennie halts just ahead and she collides into her back with a faint gasp. “Uh — babe?”

“No way,” Dennie murmurs more to herself than anyone else, then toes forward to tentatively approach a pretty blonde with dark roots sitting on her own in a two-person booth. “Rose?”

The blonde looks up at the name, seeking out its carrier with a pinch of her brow before — 

“Jayden?”

Yaz takes her in, searching for recognition. _Rose_. She’s heard that name before; she’s sure of it. 

In the meantime, Dennie springs forward, waiting for only a second until Rose has moved to stand before she envelopes her in a hug. “Oh, mate. It’s so good to see you. It’s been _ages_.”

Ages? _Oh!_ Rose. Rose Tyler. She remembers now. Any resounding jealousy withers away and Yaz melts at the display of reunion. 

“God, you’ve grown up. What’s it been — six years or something?”

“Close enough, yeah,” Dennie draws back only to beam at her, then glance back over her shoulder and find home with Yaz. “Oh, uh — this is Yaz. Yaz, this is Rose, my best friend from school. I’ve told you about her, right?”

“Loads. You wouldn’t shut up about her in the first term of uni,” Yaz confirms, stepping up to her side and hiding her surprise when Dennie boldly takes her hand. The one still free, she offers politely. “Hi. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too, Yaz. I’ve heard a lot about you as well.” With a warm and friendly shake matching the blonde’s persona, Rose glances between them with an arched brow. “So, are you two…” 

“We’re — uh, we’re dating, yeah,” Dennie divulges, cheeks flaring. Yaz squeezes her fingers in encouragement. “Anyway, what are you doing here? Thought you moved to London for good?” 

“I’ve signed a contract up here for a bit; thought I’d hang about and see if you were around so we could catch up. I only got here about a week ago, though, so things have been pretty hectic.” The blonde does another scout around the bar before glancing distractedly at her watch. “I was meant to be meeting someone tonight, actually, but I think they’re a no-show.”

When Dennie frowns, it uses every muscle in her face. Yaz finds it particularly adorable in the golden light of the bar. “Someone stood you up? Well, we can’t have that. You’re welcome to join us if you like? Our friend Bill is just outside.”

“I guess I could — If you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

“We’d love you to dish us some gossip about this one back at school,” Yaz encourages, earning a mock-pout from the blonde at her side. 

Rose grins, this time mischievously. “Oh, I’ve got tons of blackmail material, don’t you worry.” 

Apparently resigning to her fate, Dennie motions towards the open French doors with a nod of her head. “C’mon, we’re just outside.”

“Guys, you should’ve _seen_ the size of the wasp that just landed on the table — oh, hi.” Bill falters at the sight of an unfamiliar face, glancing to Dennie for explanation. “Dennie, we’ve talked about this — you can’t just kidnap people from the pub when they’re least expecting it and force them to join us. They’re not ants.”

With a shove to her shoulder and a roll of her eyes, Dennie turns back to the newcomer. “Bill, this is Rose. Rose, you have the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Bill, the biggest, most annoying pric—”

“Language, Dennie. There’s kids here.” 

“Rose, meet Bill.”

Yaz settles down in her usual spot to watch the scene unfold with an amused smirk. After a tousle of Bill’s hair, Dennie slinks down beside her and allows Rose to take the space beside Bill. 

“Ace to meet you, Rose,” Bill drawls through a smirk, shuffling up to make room. “Wait — you’re _the_ Rose? Dennie’s childhood mate Rose?” In response to the blonde’s nod, Bill pops her brows. “Mate, you never told us she was pretty.”

“Oh, give off,” Dennie scoffs, but delights in the refilled lemonade before her. Maybe Bill isn’t so bad. “Rose, take no notice of her.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Rose notes anyway, twirling a silver hoop hugging her ear and hiding a blush. “Dennie never said you were, either. Guess she’s not a great judge.”

In sync, Dennie and Yaz glance across at each other and something clicks. “ _Gross_ ,” Yaz mouths, taking a sip of her gin to hide her grimace. 

There’s a hazy sort of feel to the scene — a month ago, she’d never have guessed they would be able hang out like this again, basking in the warmth of the evening and in the presence of her closest friends. 

With the sun falling towards the horizon right ahead, Yaz’s gaze flits between each member of the group in hazy succession. 

She takes in Bill and Rose’s curious exchanges and the sound of traded laughter when the newest arrival brings forth a story from their shared past. 

She focuses on each nerve ending in her shoulder when Dennie casually slings an arm over the back of her chair, always finding a way to keep in contact with her body.

When her gaze wanders towards the blonde slowly working to light up the space between her ribs, she finds her looking right back, her unblemished features cast golden in the glow of the sun. 

“You okay?” Dennie whispers, checking in while Bill shows Rose something on her phone. “You seem a bit spaced out. Am I crowding you?” 

When the hand at her shoulder eases, Yaz is hasty in her disapproval, reaching up instead to fill the spaces between Dennie’s fingers with her own and keep her arm in place. “I’m just happy.”

Again, the same three words she’s been forging an internal war against for the past few months — rise to the surface and coat the length of her tongue like the gin warming her system. 

Instead, she lets Dennie press her forehead to her temple and drop a kiss light as a raindrop to her cheek. “Happy looks good on you.”

Opposite them, instead of tearing them away from their quiet moment, Bill snaps a silent picture before carrying on her conversation with her new friend. 

Yaz sighs, lashes fluttering when Dennie forces herself to draw away and take a sip of her drink. They both know it’s in fear of kissing her — and if they start, she doesn’t think they’ll stop. So, she bottles up the urge and saves it for later. 

Still, she’s close enough for Yaz to breathe her in, and the scent of old spice draws her closer. “You smell good, babe. What is that?”

“It’s actually — wait, you might find this weird, but it’s the perfume you bought me for my twentieth. You told me the same thing at my party and I’ve bought the same stuff every time since,” Dennie admits quietly, her free hand raising to scratch at the back of her neck in a nervous tick. 

“You —” Yaz pauses, squeezing the fingers still bracketed with her own. “You’ve worn the same perfume since just because I said you smelt nice?”

“Um — yeah. Yeah, I did. Is that weird?”

“Babe, that’s adorable.” Yaz marvels at the colour which instantly floods Dennie’s cheeks. “You’re so cute.”

“ _Yaz_ ,” Dennie mumbles, fighting back against the warmth inhibiting her neck and face. 

She’s ready to fluster her some more when suddenly the rest of the table reappears and Rose clears her throat politely. 

“Anyone for chips?”

  
  


“Y’know, it’s not the same without chocolate sauce,” Dennie grumbles nonchalantly ten minutes later, plucking another greasy, salty chip from the communal bowl in the centre and popping it past her lips. 

“Wait — you’re telling me you still haven’t grown out of your weird eating habits by now?” Rose pipes up, scrunching her nose in distaste. 

At her side, Bill snickers. “What sort of concoctions did she eat back when you were kids, then, Rose?”

“Why is it always about me, fam? Pick on Bill for once. She’s the one who smells.”

Rose snorts through a sip of cider, refusing to give in. “Dennie, you’re an _adult_ . You did not just use _Bill smells_ as a comeback.”

Yaz’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she thanks the dodgy signal for delaying a message from Bill. When she opens it up and glances over the picture attached, she has to take a second to appreciate the far off looks in both her and Dennie’s eyes while they share a private moment. 

Looking up from her screen, Yaz meets Bill’s eye in quiet gratitude before quickly saving it as her new lock screen. 

  
  


“Dennie. _Dennie_ , _psst_.” Bill’s voice echoes in from outside the stall while Dennie finishes up. 

She flushes the chain and steps out before she responds. “That was gross, mate. Did you watch me pee?”

“No, you idiot. That’s proper rank.” 

To the sound of the tap flowing and the hand sanitizer pumping, Dennie replies. “What do you want?” 

“Is Rose… y’know?” Bill gestures, broadly, rocking on her toes and suddenly… nervous? That’s new. She’ll tease her about that when it comes to it. 

“ _You know_?” Dennie repeats, hands under the dryer. She waves them blindly until it stalls into action like a weathered car. “What do you mean?”

“Shit, sorry. Forgot you had the brain cell count of a three year old,” Bill snarks, leaning against the sink. “I _mean_ is she — y’know? Does she like women?”

“Um — I’m sure she does, yeah. I haven’t seen her start a fight with one yet, gotta admit. And she’s been hanging out with us all evening,” Dennie answers with a pinch to her brow, checking her hair in the mirror and sticking her middle finger up when Bill grimaces at her. 

She has someone to look good for, and it’s not an easy feat since she’s dating somebody as gorgeous as Yasmin Khan. 

“God, you’re so annoying,” Bill groans. “Dennie, is Rose attracted to women?” 

A beat passes before Dennie starts snickering to herself, earning a nudge to the shoulder and another fierce groan from her best friend. “Yes, she is, mate. She’s bi, from what I can remember.”

“ _Thank you_. Jesus Christ,” Bill sighs, leaning against the wall opposite a framed piece of abstract art which looks suspiciously like women's breasts. “Is she single?”

“Well, since she was here for a date who stood her up, I’m guessing so.”

“Should I ask for her number?”

“If it gets you off my mother’s back, then _definitely_ , yes.”

“I’ll always hold a special place in my heart for Sarah-Jane, babes.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Can you imagine calling me _mam_ , Dennie?”

“I’m going to close this door on your face.”

“I’m just saying, if she disappears off the map for a weekend, you’ll know where to find me.”

“Stop it.” 

“I bet she makes the _best_ morning-after breakfast. Those Halloween cookies she made last time were delicious.”

“If anyone’s up there, now would be a great time to drop a grand piano on me or somethin’.”

“D’you reckon I could get her number in case Rose isn’t interested?”

“Anyone else noticed that these are kinda dry?” 

“Babe, those are pistachio nuts.”

“Yeah?”

“Dennie, mate, you’re meant to take them out of their shells first.” 

“And you guys didn’t think to tell me until now?”

“Wouldn’t be as fun that way, would it?” 

  
  
  


“It was proper nice to see you again, Rose,” Dennie announces with a grin at the end of the night, offering up an enthusiastic hug when her counterpart opens her arms. “And if you’re sticking around, for now, you’re welcome to hang out with us whenever.”

“Very welcome,” Bill chips in, shrugging her denim jacket on over a rainbow-striped cami top. “Like… really welcome.” 

Yaz nudges her elbow with a playful whisper. “Too much, mate. Tone it down.”

The rest of the group follow in turn, but rather than hug, Bill drags Dennie into a headlock and ruffles her hair until she squeaks and squirms out of her grasp. 

Once they’ve bid their goodbyes, Yaz glances back over her shoulder just in time to catch Bill and Rose retrieving their phones from their pockets and the faint colour to Bill’s cheeks. After nudging Dennie’s elbow, the blonde turns back with a low whistle. 

She’s still looking back at them both when she collides with a rusted lamp post. 

From afar, they both hear Bill’s weakly muffled laughter. 

* * *

Yaz’s flat is unoccupied when they trundle through the door with her duffel bag and the reigning tiredness of an evening spent socialising after so long in their own bubble. 

Yaz yawns on her way through to her room, dumping her bag and turning the lights on as she goes. 

“Is Sonya still at your parents’ place?” Dennie quips, padding into the open plan kitchen and immediately seeking out the secret pack of custard creams Yaz always keeps for her behind the breadbin. 

“Yeah, just ‘till tomorrow night,” Yaz informs as she heads back into the main room, leaning in the doorway. “Now that I’m back she’s happy to move back in.”

Dennie crunches down on a biscuit and Yaz pops a brow. She’ll have to hide them better next time. “So we’ve got the place to ourselves for the night?” 

Yaz swallows at the insinuation, but she can never tell if Dennie’s on the same wavelength, so she doesn’t get her hopes up just yet. “Yeah. Is that okay? You’re not scared of the flat ghost, are you?” 

As though fearful, Dennie naturally gravitates towards her, but — “‘Course I’m not scared. I bet Mr Barton was a lovely bloke when he was still alive. He won’t hurt me.” 

Yaz laughs at the serious expression on her face, wanting nothing more than to kiss the wary crinkle between her brows. She curls a hand around the back of the door, rapping her knuckles light enough against the surface for only an attentive person to hear. 

Dennie, however, is very attentive. With a frown, she glances towards the doorway. “Did y’hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Hm. Must be the wind.”

“Probably from all those pistachio shells, babe.”

“No, Yaz, I meant the weather, not the — god, you’re so annoying.”

Usually, she’d wind her up more. For now, though, she settles on padding into the seamlessly connected living room and scooping up the remote with a snicker. “It’s still early, do you want to watch a movie?”

Yaz can tell what’s going to happen before Dennie even comes to her decision. 

She steps out of the way just in time for Dennie to take a running leap towards the couch and land on the soft brown cushions like one would expect from a youngster. “Movies with Yaz? Amazin’.”

  
  


Plucking crumbs from her lap when Dennie leans against her shoulder to continue snacking, Yaz opts to share the thoughts distracting her from the moving images on the screen over pushing them back down in stubborn refusal. 

But when she parts her lips and take a breath in readiness, she finds that she doesn’t know where to start. 

Observant as ever, Dennie picks up on her shaky inhale and lifts her head from its perch in concern. Instead of asking if she’s okay, however, she tilts her head to the side and seeks out her eyes, giving her time to unravel her thoughts. 

“Dennie, I think I want to come out. To — I hate saying _fans_ , but — to them. To the people online. I want to tell them we’re together,” Yaz divulges, reaching out to toy with the lengthy drawstring of Dennie’s borrowed grey pyjama shorts. It’s their second movie in, and pyjamas figured out to be far more comfortable than the jeans they’d both been wearing previously.

“Yeah?” Dennie sits up a little straighter, half in her lap with how close she’s curled to her side. She plucks up one of Yaz’s hands and curls both of her own around it, giving her fingers a squeeze. “D’you mean _now_? Right this instant?” 

“Yeah,” Yaz shrugs, then swallows, staring at a spot on the grey wall straight ahead. “Wait — maybe — maybe tomorrow?”

“Whenever you’re most comfortable, Yaz,” Dennie agrees, but there’s another question balancing on the tip of her tongue if the creases in the corner of her eyes and her flitting gaze are anything to go by. 

Yaz peels her fingers away from the drawstring in favour of touching her hand to her forearm. “Babe? What is it?”

“How —” Dennie pauses, cheeks flaring in flustered curiosity. “How are you going to introduce me, Yaz?” 

“Oh.”

Yaz swallows thickly around the words coating her throat and thinks back to the past few months; their ups and downs, their bad days and their absolutely unforgettable days; the days like etchings into the original frame of a house; a constant presence in the depths of her memory hidden until one ventures just beneath the surface and draws it to the front of their consciousness once more. 

She thinks of the manner in which Dennie has looked at her every morning since their mutual admission; like the first pitter-patter of rain after a decade-long drought. 

When she lifts her gaze, Dennie’s gazing at her with the same expression, a mixture of hope, adoration, patience, and something yearningly familiar to love. 

She thinks she might be sending those signals right back and the prospect of it; the idea that this affection, this enamourment; this love is mutual — answers the question for her. 

“Would you mind if I told them you were my g—” 

“Yes. Thirteen gazillion times yes.”

“ — good friend?”

Dennie blinks. “You’re kidding.” A beat. “Wait, you’re kidding, right?”

Yaz’s neutral expression cracks at the edges and she ducks her head in a fit of laughter. “Babe, your face!”

“That was cruel, Yaz,” Dennie complains with a pout, flopping back against the sofa beside her and crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze levels with the television and Yaz can tell she’s trying not to smile. She’s an awful actress when it comes to being around Yaz. 

She doesn’t read too far into that for now. 

When Dennie even goes so far as stomping her foot, Yaz snickers, reaching out for an entangled arm. “Aw, babe. You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

Dennie doesn’t budge other than hint to a small smile, so Yaz sneaks a hand beneath her folded arms and scratches at her side where she knows she’s ticklish. 

“Dennie,” she murmurs in a sing-song manner, leaning in to press a flurry of dramatic, exaggerated kisses to her face until she squirms. “C’mon, baby. I was just joking. You know how much I like you.”

Frowning doesn’t come easy with Yaz so near, and when searching fingers find another spot just below her belly button to ghost over, Dennie wriggles away from her with a childlike giggle. “Yaz, stop.”

“Sorry, babe? Can’t hear you.” Yaz’s attack continues, hands scrabbling at her thin t-shirt to seek out the next sensitive spot. When Dennie almost gets away, Yaz climbs into her lap and laughs in victory. 

“ _Yaz!”_

“Say the magic words. C’mon, you must remember.” 

“ _Please?”_

“Nope. Try again.”

“ _Ah!_ No — stop, _Yaz!_ Fine — oh my _God_. Fine, fine — Dennie smells.” 

With a scoff, Yaz draws her hands back and instead drapes them lazily around the back of Dennie’s neck. She’d move out of her lap if Dennie’s hands hadn’t found purchase on her hips. “I’m surprised you remembered, babe.” 

“How could I forget such a wonderful compliment?” Dennie drawls, nose scrunched up. Her gaze flits between Yaz’s eyes and mouth, then drops to the other woman’s waist. The tightness of her tank top against her faintly toned stomach muscles makes her swallow audibly and reddens the tips of her ears. 

_Not so sarcastic now,_ Yaz wants to say. 

Instead, she taps at the back of her neck to haul her gaze back up. “So, uh — you’re okay with that? With being my girlfriend?” 

Evidently getting used to the phrase, Dennie beams, shifting slightly beneath her in excitement. “More than okay.” Her eyes drift back to her mouth again and she flushes pink, wetting her bottom lip. “Scouts honour.”

With a moment’s pause, Yaz leans down to kiss her and it’s different this time; a little more firm and confident and a whole lot more meaningful. She cups the back of her neck and presses forward, knees still bracketing Dennie’s lithe hips. 

Dennie’s fingers curl around her waistband in a familiar movement, and when she prizes her hips a touch closer to her own by drawing her forward, Yaz’s surprised squeak tumbles into her mouth. 

In rebuttal, Yaz slips her tongue past parted lips. She tastes the cloying tang of her favourite biscuits and, behind it, a faint whisper of alcohol. The rest of her senses hone in on the distinctive sugary sweetness of her and she spares a brief thought for her own health when she delves in for more. 

Dennie is breathless and flushed and worked up in minutes and when Yaz slips a hand under her _Coldplay_ t-shirt with a moment’s hesitation for consent, Dennie arches into her touch with a breathy, keening hum. 

Yaz can tell her hands are on the cooler side of the scale if Dennie’s jumping stomach muscles are anything to go by, and while the blonde — no, wait — her _girlfriend_ swirls her tongue around her own and explores her mouth — Yaz lets her hand drift along the bumps and dips of her ribs towards her chest. She’s braless, and it sends a shock of heat towards Yaz’s gut. 

“Can I —?” Yaz repeats, fingertips skirting the underside of her breast. 

Dennie draws back if only to nod briskly, lips swollen and pink. “Please.”

Yaz holds her gaze when she finally inches her hand upwards, squeezing a soft, giving handful within her palm and brushing her thumb in a slow, reverent motion over her nipple.

Dennie’s lashes flutter around hooded eyes and she bites down on her bottom lip, the crinkle between her brows conveying her restrained pleasure. 

After taking in the flood of colour to her cheeks and the hitch of breath she earns when she swipes once, twice, three times more over her pebbling flesh, Yaz leans in to capture her lips again. 

Dennie’s tongue searches out her own instantly and she chokes out a moan when Yaz squeezes at the hardened nub only a few seconds later. 

She writhes and twitches beneath her until her pyjama shorts are clinging to her. She moves a slender hand gripping like iron to the curve of her hip up, pulling back from the kiss briefly to lift it to the hem of her top and under. She can hear Dennie’s swift intake of breath when her fingers span her toned skin. “You can touch me too, if you like.”

“Um— _oh_ ,” Dennie keens when Yaz’s hand moves across to her neglected breast underneath her top, fidgeting beneath her and aching for more. 

Yaz draws back to give her some breathing room, nudging their noses together. “You okay?”

“Um — I think — could we —” Foregoing her mumbled sentence, Dennie curiously seeks out the rise of Yaz’s breast and curses under her breath when she finally meets her goal. She falls forward to press their foreheads together, panting softly against the curve of Yaz’s lips. 

With a delicate kiss to the corner of her mouth, Yaz waits patiently for Dennie’s thoughts to click back together. “Babe?”

“Bedroom. Could we go to your bedroom?” Dennie whispers into the millimetre of space between them, chest heaving beneath Yaz’s palm. 

The insinuation is enough for Yaz to swallow thickly, but she tampers her desire down so as not to scare the nervous blonde beneath her. “Of course we can.” 

Heaving a shuddering exhale as though she’d been holding her breath, Dennie’s lips twitch up into a bashful grin and she steals a gentler kiss from Yaz’s lips before straightening up. 

If Yaz notices the faint hum of disapproval when Dennie has to drop her hand from beneath her top so she can stand, she doesn’t mention it. It does make her snicker to herself, though. She offers her hand once she’s on her feet, taking a welcome ego boost when Dennie’s legs wobble slightly. “Could carry you, if you like, babe.”

“Shut up,” Dennie huffs petulantly, entwining their fingers and letting Yaz lead the way. 

Yaz’s bedroom is neatly organised and spacious, back-dropped by a large window presenting Sheffield city centre in all its well-lit glory. The walls are a clean yellow and brilliant white and there’s a perfectly spaced collage of photographs tacked to the wall above her bed. 

Dennie doesn’t take the time to admire them like hundreds of times before, instead choosing to launch herself onto the bed and cock an eyebrow in Yaz’s direction. It’s meant to be suggestive and sexy, but it’s closer to the face she makes seconds before she sneezes. 

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Dennie prompts with a giggle but gulps when Yaz stalks over with a smirk, arms folded. 

_Gotcha_ , Yaz snickers internally. She climbs onto her bed and watches Dennie fidget with a mixture of excitement, nerves and arousal, hands bunching in her t-shirt and hazel eyes watching her every movement. 

When Yaz drops down beside her, Dennie’s brows furrow and she glances pointedly at her hips. 

“You know you can tell me if you want me on top, babe,” Yaz snarks, swinging a leg over Dennie’s hip and coming to rest over the tops of her thighs. She reaches out for Dennie’s hands, peeling them away from her t-shirt and bunching it between her own fingers when she drags her up for a kiss. 

“Just kiss me,” Dennie murmurs in rebuke but gives in to a shiver when Yaz swipes her tongue along her bottom lip before closing the distance and moulding their mouths together. 

The kiss grows heated and wanton in an instant and Yaz can’t quite believe her luck when, from their upright positions, Dennie rocks against her faintly, squirming for attention. Yaz raises her hand back to her chest, palming at her through her thin t-shirt until Dennie has to break away to moan. 

Another few breathless moments later, Dennie pauses her hand and drags it to the hem of her top. When she catches her eye with eclipsed pupils, Yaz swallows down a needy sound from the back of her throat. “I think I want you to take it off, Yaz.” 

“Are you sure?” Yaz asks on instinct, pulse racing. 

In answer, Dennie nods firmly and raises her arms slightly. 

Taking a breath and failing to hide how affected she really is, Yaz peels her scruffy band t-shirt over her head and casts it aside carelessly, frazzling blonde hair with static. 

The second she glances back, Yaz’s cheeks burn and she has to train herself not to simply give in and worship every inch of skin laid bare before her. It’s akin to being gifted a present she’s been yearning for years on end. 

“ _Jayden_ ,” she sighs, hands skimming her sides while her gaze flits from Dennie’s blushing face to her soft, slim curves and delicate breasts. Should she be thanking her? “You’re unbelievable. Oh my _God_.”

Dennie captures her lips when her nerves take over and she’s left self-conscious in their wake. She moans into Yaz’s open mouth when she palms at her breast as though she’ll crumble under her very fingertips, a soft thumb brushing even softer flesh until Dennie has to pull away to gasp and clutch at her hips. 

“Babe, can I—” Dennie cuts Yaz off with another open-mouthed kiss when Yaz continues her ministrations, disguising her moan against her lips. 

When she finally draws back enough, Yaz is watching her with laughing eyes. “Can I use my mouth?” 

Dennie blinks at her rapidly as though the very words are refusing to translate, dazed and bright pink all the way down to her heaving breasts. Yaz gives in to a flustered laugh, brushing a kiss against her nose, and it works to bring her back into the present. “Um — could we —” she reaches between them, plucking at Yaz’s plain teal tank top. “Could we even it out first?”

With a steady gaze, Yaz doesn’t hesitate to strip her top off and drop it aside. Dennie simply sits there, slack-jawed and deliciously ruffled, watching every movement and taking her in through eyes foggy with arousal. There are words on the tip of her tongue but she swallows them down. In fact — both of them do. They blink at each other and it’s enough to communicate their sentiments before they go any further. 

Surprisingly, it’s Dennie who moves in first, catching Yaz out and making her falter. 

Ruddy green eyes find hers, wide with wonder and awe and need. She taps at her hip. “Could you lie back for me?”

Obliging without question to Dennie’s shy request, Yaz slips from her lap and settles back against the cool sheets. Her hands move on reflex when Dennie shifts over her, landing on Dennie’s bare waist while her counterpart straddles one of her thighs. 

“Let me know if I’m doing anything wrong?” Dennie murmurs, leaning in to press her lips against her pulse and touch her bare chest for only the second time. She cups her breast and squeezes tentatively, every motion an education. 

“I really doubt you could do anything wrong, babe. But — yeah, I will. Just keep going for me. Take it easy,” Yaz encourages, letting her head fall back against fluffy pillows and her neck arch in a perfect curve as Dennie finds the sensitive spot she’s committed to memory just behind her ear. Three consecutive moles grace the skin there, Yaz knows, making up a lopsided smiley face that Dennie always finds adorable. 

At the same time, Dennie drops her hand to her stomach to trace the firmness of her muscles; the natural dips and the exercised grooves. She muffles a sigh, squirming slightly against the thigh cradled between her legs. 

“Didn’t realise you were so into those,” Yaz drawls breathlessly. Dennie gawps when the muscles beneath her touch clench involuntarily. 

As though Yaz has personally offended her, Dennie pulls back in astonishment. “Are you kidding me? Yaz, you’re literally carved like an ancient Goddess. Is this holy ground? Should I have brought an offering with me?”

“Ancient? You callin’ me old?”

“No, no — wait, I didn’t mean —” 

“Relax, _relax_. I’m just teasing, babe,” Yaz laughs, brushing a lock of blonde hair from Dennie’s eyes and tucking it behind a decorated ear. 

Dennie leans into her touch with a sigh, fingers spanning her stomach again to catch the way they harden when Yaz laughs. She has the sense to meet Yaz’s gaze when she relays her admiration. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Yaz opens her mouth to respond when a strong hand moves back up to her chest and catches at the rise of a sensitive nipple. 

“Could you guide me?” Dennie moves before Yaz can respond in any way, trailing warm lips from her collarbone down towards her hand. 

Yaz falters for a second in surprise — they haven’t gone further than this. “Okay, so, I — I usually just — hang on, why don’t you just follow my hand, okay? I’ll show you.” 

Dennie nods, every inch eager to please. She watches as Yaz trails her finger in a wide circle around her breast, following the movement with wet, warm kisses. With every oscillation, she encroaches on her final goal. 

She braves a small graze of her teeth against the underside of her breast and Yaz is strung taught like a puppet by the time her hot breaths ghost over her dusky nipple. 

Yaz drops her hand away with a faint keen and watches with hooded eyes as Dennie finally, finally closes her mouth around a soft bud. Her resultant moan is louder than she’d predicted. 

Arching her chest into a willing, eager mouth, Yaz curls her hand into the pillow behind her, flexing her fingers in the material. 

“If you just — you can be a little rougher,” she encourages gently, sparks of electricity gathering beneath her flesh and darting towards the space between her thighs. 

Obliging, Dennie lathes her tongue in firm strokes across a dusky nub. Yaz’s head tips back on the precipice of a guttural moan. Nobody’s ever paid so much attention to each millimetre of skin before and it shows in the way she reacts. “Oh, _yes_. Just like that.”

When Dennie grazes her teeth over the rising flesh, Yaz’s muscles pull taut and she gasps her pleasure. “Good. Really good. _God_.”

The praise earns an increase in pressure on Yaz’s bracketed thigh and she looks down to find Dennie bright red and swallowing thickly around dark skin. When she tenses the muscles there with purpose, the blonde goes slack against her, parting her lips around a whimper. 

She’ll have to save that shred of information and tuck it into her pocket for safekeeping. 

If the hot, slightly damp material against her thigh says anything, it’s that her words definitely have an effect. 

Dennie keeps up her efforts until Yaz cards her fingers through her hair and gently taps at the back of her neck, capturing her attention. “Other side now, babe.”

This time, Dennie’s noticeably more confident, following the guidance Yaz gave her previously without her assistance. She dutifully teases in circular motions around her destination and Yaz is squirming for attention by the time she gets there. 

When she latches onto her nub, Yaz swears under her breath and tangles her hand a little tighter in her hair, giving it a tug. Dennie muffles her moan against her skin, giving her the confidence to suck at the giving flesh. 

“ _Dennie_ ,” Yaz sighs, her hips twitching when another surge of electricity fizzles at the base of her spine. 

Encouraged, her counterpart meets her gaze and continues working her nipple in competitive determination, worshipping the flesh she’s been granted access to while her hips press and squirm faintly against Yaz’s tensing thigh. 

“You sure you haven’t done this before?” 

A playful skim of teeth and a proud grin later, Yaz gently guides her back up with the hand in her hair. She kisses her talented mouth and breathes a sigh through her nose. 

“I think I’d remember something like that, Yaz,” Dennie drawls. 

Yaz nips at her bottom lip, earning a whimper. “Don’t get smug now, babe.”

When Yaz drags her in for another heated kiss, she flips their positions with ease. Dennie slumps down onto her back and curls her arms around Yaz’s hips, fingers cloying at the waistband of her shorts but trembling too much to dip any further. 

Yaz abandons a hand to palm at Dennie’s chest, working a sensitive nipple under her thumb. She blinks her eyes open when Dennie pulls away to gasp. “This okay?” she breathes in warm concern.

“Yeah. Still feels new — like I’m fizzing inside.”

“That’s okay. Totally normal.” Although she doesn’t miss the way she trembles and pants, looking a little hazy below her. She slides her hand down her arm instead, tracing the temporary tattoo of a turtle she’d applied to her forearm earlier in an effort to ground her. Her own burning arousal she sets on the backburner. It’s nothing compared to the need for Dennie to be comfortable. “We can stop there if you want? Or — um — I had an idea; something we could try. If you’re up for it?”

Curious green lifts, jumping bases between Yaz’s mouth and eyes in nervous interest. “Yeah? What were you thinking?”

Unable to resist, Yaz cups her cheek and presses a kiss to her lips which is firm enough to leave Dennie dizzy. “We could — uh — show each other what we like, maybe? I mean, how we… y’know.”

Dumbed down either by the kiss or her usual distracted state of mind, Dennie simply squints up at her in question. 

“You — Dennie, you masturbate, right?”

A token flush spreading from her bare chest upwards, Dennie squirms. “I mean, yeah. I — _oh_. So you mean we could —”

Maybe it’s Dennie feeding her nerves, but suddenly Yaz has to avert her gaze. “Yeah. only if you want to, obviously.”

The blonde beneath her bites her lip, fidgeting slightly when every breath brushes their bare chests together. “Do _you_ want to?”

“I mean, not to inflate your ego, but I really do, yeah. ‘Specially after that,” Yaz admits puckishly, running her tongue along her bottom lip. 

Dennie’s intrigue turns to smugness and she quirks a slim eyebrow. “Just from that?”

Giving in to Dennie’s esteem, Yaz nods. “There’s no _just_ about it.” 

Dennie leans up, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. “Say it. Tell me you think I’m good with my mouth, babe.”

Slumping at her side and folding her arms, Yaz wills her arousal to fade if only to refute Dennie’s claim. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

At her side, she hears quiet shuffling, then the movement of clothing. Then — oh. When she glances back, Dennie’s hand has slipped past her waistband and her fingers tent the material of her pyjama shorts. Yaz gasps, unable to look away. It’s got to be one of the hottest things she’s ever witnessed, and it’s enough to make her freeze in place like bodied cement. 

Defying expectations at her side, Dennie moans gutturally, seemingly arriving at her destination. “C’mon, I thought this was your idea,” she whines, hips already twitching into her palm. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

Yaz lies back in haste, their shoulders bumping, and holds her breath while her hand smooths over the exercised muscles of her stomach towards where she knows is wet and swollen. 

When she graces her damp folds with her fingertips and the slick sound of her arousal meets the room, Dennie moans from beside her, watching on in surprised pleasure. 

“Did I—” 

Yaz bites back a moan as she slides now slippery fingers through herself and probes one past her entrance with shocking ease. “That’s all you, babe.” 

“ _Christ_ , Yaz.” Dennie’s hips jump and she keens under her breath, tipping her head back. 

Yaz follows the slender curve of her throat and regrets the fact she hasn’t made her mark there yet; perhaps just above her sharp collarbones, where everyone would be able to see. The sudden deluge of possessiveness through her system makes her finger work harder, dipping shallowly through soaked walls in otherwise steady thrusts. Each one greets the room in an obscene manner and makes the form at her side tremble with arousal. 

Slowing her pace for fear of peaking too soon, Yaz catches a glimpse of Dennie’s moving hand and slackened jaw in absolute wonder. “Where are you touching, babe?”

“My— uh — just my clit.” Dennie’s voice comes out strained and breathless and, idly, Yaz tries to imagine how she must be feeling considering her experience. It’s no wonder she’s so fidgety with need.

Gliding her digits up to her swollen nub, Yaz copies her movements until they’re working in sync, her toes curling with sparks of pleasure. She lifts her knees for a better angle, the sheets soft under the pads of her feet. 

Dennie catches on to her shuffling and glances across, absorbed in the motions of Yaz’s hand between her legs. She bites into the back of her free hand to muffle her groan, leaving indents in porcelain skin. 

Noticing her restraint, however, Yaz reaches out to gently prise her hand from her mouth and raise it to her own to kiss her knuckles. “I want to hear you, babe.”

Dennie shivers at the contact, stomach muscles jumping, and nods shyly. Her cheeks burn when Yaz follows the length of her slender fingers to press a kiss to the tip of her index. 

With Dennie’s eyes on her, she flicks her tongue over the tip and Dennie whimpers, jaw slackening and hips twitching. Unconsciously, the hand shoved between her legs works a little faster.

Yaz takes the digit past her lips and swirls her tongue until Dennie is suitably squirming before she lets go with a resounding pop. 

“Oh, _fuck_ , Yaz,” Dennie cries, head falling back against the pillow. 

Dennie rarely swears, so when Yaz lifts her gaze to seek out dark pupils, she has to swallow heavily, prompting her hand to inch further. “Can you go inside for me, Dennie?”

“Yes, yeah — I’m — I can do that,” Dennie stammers, shivering all over when her fingers sink further south. Yaz can hear how wound up she is without even needing to glance at her undoubtedly ruined grey pyjama shorts. “How many?”

Yaz is surprised, moving her own fingers through her soaked folds to the most lewd noises she’s ever experienced. “However many you need, baby. I don’t mind.”

At her side, Dennie relaxes into the yellow sheets, tilting her hips into the pressure and letting free even the slightest of grunts and whimpers. 

It only takes a matter of minutes before she’s bucking up into her hand and coiling up like a bound spring. “Yaz, I’m not going to last…” 

Yaz turns her head, leaning in to press a kiss to her parted lips which Dennie returns eagerly, sucking on her tongue with a filthy groan. They kiss until they’re breathless, hands moving frantically. Scrap that previous thought; _this_ might be the single hottest thing she’s experienced in her life. 

“Oh my God, _fuck, fuck._ I haven’t — ngh — I’ve never been this wet in my life, Yaz,” Dennie rambles between whimpered groans, beautiful in her stupor. When she thinks over her choice of words and their grotesque nature, however, she flushes with embarrassment and Yaz can feel the heat from her side. 

Yaz’s eyes roll back and she seeks out her clit with her thumb while her fingers continue to thrust shallowly. The effect of her admission is clear. “ _Dennie_.” 

Dennie’s hand slides up her stomach to her chest, where she palms at her breast and circles her nipple with her thumb. Her moans increase in pitch and she lifts one of her knees to fuck deeper into her core. 

Yaz is in thrall, watching her absolutely ruin herself at her own manipulation. “Close, babe?”

Dennie whimpers, closing her eyes, chasing her touch desperately. Her legs shift and she squirms in place, her free hand fisting in the sheets. The slick noises heighten but neither of them care. “So close. I think I’m going to —” 

Yaz slows to watch her unfurl, reaching between them to pluck a lock of damp hair from her eyes and tuck it tenderly behind her ear. She purrs against her lobe, grazing her teeth and tongue against the sensitive skin. “Come for me, Dennie. C’mon, _come_.”

“Yaz, _Yaz, oh my God_.”

“I’ve got you. Come on, baby.” 

With a high pitched whimper and a gasp, Dennie’s stomach muscles pull taught and she all but ruts against her hand, which is held in place by toned thighs. 

Yaz watches her expression as she reaches her peak and unravels beside her, yearning to reach out and touch and coax the same reaction with her own hand between her legs. But there’s time for that at a later date. God, she hopes so. 

When Dennie comes back down, she turns her head, cheeks flushed and an adorably confused line between her brows. “Have you—?” 

The question reminds her of the burning heat between her own thighs and Yaz shakes her head, biting into her bottom lip. 

Dennie turns onto her side, muscles still twitching and the occasional gasp sweeping past her lips. “keep going, Yaz. Please. I need to see you.”

Tipping her head back slightly, and forgoing a semblance of embarrassment, Yaz circles her clit with two fingers under Dennie’s curiously watchful eye and works herself up rapidly towards her release. She knows it won’t take long either. 

When she senses the sheets shuffling at her side, however, she opens lidded eyes to find Dennie wetting her lips, gaze flitting between her chest and the hand working keenly between her legs. 

“Can I?” Dennie rasps as she leans in, mouth ghosting over the curve of her breast. 

Blinking through a needy haze, Yaz recaptures her lip between pearly whites and nods, already soaring higher and higher with no parachute to utilise. “Please. I’m close.”

Cursing under her breath, Dennie closes the gap between her mouth and Yaz’s dusky nipple, putting her newfound direction into play. 

When Dennie begins to suck, wet and hot and eager, Yaz catapults towards the edge with no resistance. She doubles up the desperate circles against her clit and lifts her hips, thighs twitching. “Dennie, I’m close. I’m so close.” 

Dennie muffles her moan against her chest, grazing her teeth over the pebbled flesh until Yaz is gasping and keening beneath her. 

Yaz unravels the second Dennie shifts her attention to her other breast, mouthing at sensitive flesh like she’s just uncovered the ripest of fruits. Arching into her eager ministrations, Yaz presses firmly against her clit and coaxes her orgasm forth. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Dennie.”

Dennie peels back enough to watch her come apart, breathing hotly against her heaving chest. She follows the blissful part to her lips down to the drumbeat in her neck, then south towards the place where her fingers begin to slow. 

Convulsing through the last whispers of her release, Yaz blinks through fireworks and stars and burning constellations to find Dennie gazing at her in such marvel she may as well inhibit them. 

“Hey,” Dennie whispers moments later, wiping her hand on her thigh and rolling onto her front to press a series of soothing, grounding kisses to the curve of her jaw and neck. 

Once Yaz has the awareness to take her in, she ghosts her fingers through Dennie’s hair and guides her up to greet her lips. “Hey,” she croaks out between slow, lazy kisses. “Was that okay?”

Dennie hums her approval and Yaz is delighted to note the newfound confidence in the way she moulds against her and responds to her affection. Slinging a thigh over Yaz’s hip, Dennie crosses her arms over her chest and drops her chin atop them. “Way more than okay, Yaz. That was like —” She exhales through her nose in search for an explanation, the motion drawing goosebumps to the surface. “We can do that, like — any time you want, Yaz. Or — like, _all the time_. Either is fine with me. We don’t have to leave, y’know. I’ve done research into the life of a hermit— is everything alright?”

Yaz’s chest trembles beneath Dennie’s hold and when she realises she’s laughing it takes only a second for her to join in. 

Curling her arms around Dennie’s waist when they no longer feel like lead and her stomach aches with laughter, Yaz combs her fingers through blonde strands and delights in the hums and happy murmurings it grants her. 

The sheets have since been drawn over their forms, and Yaz can tell her girlfriend is dropping off with the attention to her scalp in no time. 

“Thanks for tonight, Yaz,” Dennie mumbles against her neck, where she nestles her nose and snuffles a fatigued sigh. 

Yaz traces a path from her hairline to the base of her neck, where she kneads gently. “Thank _you_ , Dennie,” she insists, muscles jumping when Dennie starts drawing connections between the freckles painting her sternum. “Thanks for being comfortable enough for that.”

“Do y’think we can keep working up to it?” Dennie prompts, nestling closer. Her nose is cool against the base of Yaz’s throat. 

Yaz blames Dennie’s tired state for the earnestness to her tone. “Of course, babe. For as long as you like.”

“Yeah?” she hums, scrawling letters with the tip of her finger which Yaz can’t translate just below the curve of her breast. “Brilliant.”

When Yaz reaches out with her free hand to flick the light off, she lets the switch dither for a second and watches for Dennie’s reaction. 

Instantly, she burrows closer — but she’s not scared. Of course not. 

“Yaz, please tell me that was you.”

“What was me, babe?”

“Nothin’. Absolutely nothing. Nothing to be scared of, Yaz.”

“Night, babe.”

“Hmm— yeah, night.”

  
  


“Yaz? Are you still awake?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, thank _God.”_

“What’s up?”

“Can you hold my hand?”

“‘Course.”

“Thanks.”

“Dennie, are you scar—”

“No.”

“‘Kay, babe.”

  
  


“Dennie?”

“Yeah? You okay?”

“I’ll protect you from the monsters.”

“Thanks, Yaz.”

  
  



	5. the camping trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone's taking care <3
> 
> sorry if this chapter is a bit all over the place i had lots of ideas but no way to connect them : / 
> 
> TW: recreational drug use

_bill [3:45AM]: why did no one tell me rose is a kinda famous model_

_bill [3:47AM]: would it be wrong to google her_

_bill [3:51AM]: guys what happens if u see the nudes of the person ur kinda lowkey talking to_

* * *

“Morning, babe,” Yaz enthuses as she slips into the passenger side door, leaning in for a peck on the lips which, as always, turns enthusiastic and eager on the tip of Dennie’s tongue. 

When Yaz pulls back, she’s flushed and re-energised, leaving Dennie dazed and pliant in the driver’s seat. “Uh — hi.”

A shaky hand finds the steering wheel and a converse-clad foot presses on the gas, but nothing happens other than the wheeze of an ancient engine. 

Wordlessly, Yaz draws the handbrake out of its parking function for her. She muffles a laugh when Dennie’s face flares with colour and decides not to tease. She did just kiss her stupid, after all. “Did you see Bill’s texts this morning?”

Dennie fails to resist a scoff, pulling out from Yaz’s complex and turning onto the main road. “I did, yeah. She called me just before I left to grill me about her.” She taps out a rhythm on the steering wheel when the radio starts playing a classic _ABBA_ song. “I told her to find out for herself — without using Goggle this time.”

“Google,” Yaz corrects by instinct, dropping a hand to Dennie’s thigh while they wind through the waking city. “S’there a reason you needed me here to visit your mum today, by the way? Not that I don’t always want to see her. She’s ace, your mum.”

“She said she’d put some things together for a conspiracy video she wants me to pick up, and — uh,” Dennie pauses, dropping a hand to the one resting in her lap and squeezing Yaz’s fingers. She’s wearing cuffed jeans today adorned with a series of handcrafted patches of colourful material. “I wanted you to be there when I told her we’re official. Like — _proper_ official.”

_“Proper_ official?” Yaz repeats with a smirk, thumb brushing an applique sunflower at her hip. “She’ll be alright with it, yeah?” 

“‘Course she will, Yaz,” Dennie murmurs in reassurance, lifting Yaz’s hand to press her lips to her knuckles when they stop at a red light. She turns her head to seek her out, offering a breezy grin. “Mate, she thinks the government has been taken over by aliens — I reckon she’s got more important things on her mind than judging my taste in women.” Another kiss and another wave of serotonin through Yaz’s chest. “Plus, she’s always loved you. It’ll be fine, Yaz. Promise.” 

Yaz hums her affirmation and lets her hand fall back to Dennie’s thigh when the light overhead shifts lazily back to green. It’s another gloriously sunny day in a string of luck, so she rolls down the window, sits a pair of sunglasses over the bridge of her nose and tries not to laugh through Dennie’s dramatic rendition of _Take A Chance On Me._

“Have you thought any more about the video, by the way?” Dennie pipes up halfway to their destination, sparing a softened glance her way. 

Ever since she’d mentioned revealing their relationship to their fans and her resultant coming out, she’d been putting it off each day through sheer apprehension. 

“Maybe — maybe next week?” Yaz supplies, free hand picking at her nail beds. “I just want to enjoy today and tonight, and get away from the internet a bit before we do it.”

“Yeah?” Dennie catches the movement and taps at the hand resting on her knee to try and alert her to her anxious tick. “That’s fine, Yaz. Totally okay.” 

As though sensing her continued apprehension, though, she turns the radio up further and starts on her next rendition, this time of _Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain._

Number thirteen, Bannerman Road is a red-bricked, Victorian affair, and whenever Dennie pulls up into the driveway in her trusty companion, her face lights up in clear adoration for her childhood home. 

Yaz is there to witness it with a copycat expression of her own — but rather than direct it at her home, she presents it gladly to the woman beside her. 

Dennie hops down from her seat and rounds to the other side to do the honours for Yaz, and together they approach the grand house hand in hand. 

Dennie knocks first, squeezing the fingers slotted through her own with her other hand. 

With the patience of a child, she nudges the letterbox open and peeks inside only a second later. “Mum? It’s Jayden. I’ve got Yaz with me, too.”

Noticing the faint scrunch of her nose when Dennie is forced to use her full name, Yaz scoffs quietly at her side and earns a teasing huff. 

A beat passes before a familiar voice comes from the side gate and both women turn to seek it out. 

“We’re around the back, ladies! And remember to close the gate behind you so Canine doesn’t wander off!”

The dog in question — a great dane hugged by a sleek grey coat with sea-blue eyes and a slowness to its walk encumbered by age — is the first to greet them enthusiastically at the rustic, rose-patterned gate. 

“Canine! Hiya, mate,” Dennie cries as soon as she steps through, immediately dropping to the freshly trimmed grass to greet him with a series of boisterous affections. She ends up on her back in seconds with the dog’s tongue swiping in excited swathes over her face. 

Taking note _not_ to let Dennie kiss her until she’s washed her face, Yaz heads along the garden path woven through decorative wildflowers until she reaches the back patio. At a wooden table painted in rainbow colour with a plate of biscuits clearly prepared for one person alone, sits Dennie’s mum. A white, collared blouse and a leather waistcoat alongside dark slacks complete her usual smart look. Yaz has always been admiring of the woman’s style. 

When she glances down at her loose jeans, green plaid shirt and grey tank top, she feels a little underdressed. 

“Hi, Sarah Jane,” Yaz greets as she approaches, her warm smile broadening when the older woman — somewhere in her late fifties — springs from her chair to welcome her with a squeezing hug. She’s always been a great hugger. It must be where Dennie gets it from. 

“Yaz! It’s been far too long,” Sarah Jane crows, pulling back to study her features like one would expect from their own mother after a long absence. “You’re glowing. How are you doing?”

Hiding a blush at the compliment, Yaz simply ducks her head, earning a chuckle from the brunette. “Thank you. And it has! But you’re looking really well, too. I swear you don’t age.”

“Oh, that would be interesting, wouldn’t it?” Sarah Jane prompts, every inch reminding her of the blonde still playing rough and tumble back along the other side of the garden. “Perhaps a lotion which _actually_ stopped you ageing? Or a certain string of genetics which stopped the process? Maybe I’ve been hiding a secret this whole time.”

“I always forget how similar you and Dennie are,” Yaz goads with a laugh which makes Sarah Jane smirk. 

As if remembering her absence, Sarah Jane peers around with a squint. “Talking of which, where’s that silly daughter of mine?”

“Think Canine’s giving her a lesson in self-cleaning.” 

“Honestly; her and that dog — they’re inseparable.”

“Hiya!” Dennie yells a little louder than necessary as she jogs over, Canine hot on her tails. She swoops in for a hug and brushes a kiss to her cheek seconds before spotting the plate on the table. “Jammie Dodgers? Thanks, mum. How’s it going?”

“Jayden, save some for Yaz,” Sarah Jane chides when the sunflower-dusted plate is effectively snatched up by her daughter. 

“S’fine, she’s —” Dennie cups a hand around her mouth and leans in “ — one of those _healthy_ people.” 

“ _Dennie_ ,” Yaz huffs, nudging at her elbow and coaxing a snicker. “Just because you’re allergic to anything that doesn’t have chocolate or biscuits involved.”

Shaking her head — whether in amusement over Dennie or their interactions Yaz isn’t sure — Sarah Jane motions her thumb over her shoulder and takes a step back towards the large house. “I’ll fetch us some refreshments, but make yourselves at home out here. What would you like, girls? Coffee? Tea? Squash? I made some fresh lemonade this morning, too.”

“Ooh, I’ll have some lemonade, thanks,” Dennie quips, hopping onto a swing set beneath the sturdy branch of an oak tree which also holds up a rickety old treehouse painted with suns, moons and stars. 

Yaz pads over to where Dennie kicks off the ground in a pathetic bid to swing forward, baring a grin over her shoulder. “Same here, thank you, Sarah Jane.”

“Gotcha. Be right back.” 

“Could you give us a shove, Yaz?” Dennie huffs, blowing blonde locks from her face and leaning back. 

Yaz rolls her eyes, slipping behind the tree to grasp onto the sides of the swing. “Always, babe.”

“Oi! Cheeky.” 

A beat. “Bit higher, thanks, Yaz.”

“Better?”

“C’mon, you can go harder than that,” Dennie jibes, kicking her legs back. 

Narrowly dodging the imprint of Converse to her nose, Yaz grunts as she puts all her force into the next swing. “Anyone ever told you you’re really demanding?”

“Brilliant! Awesome work, Yaz. Solid eight out of ten.”

“Only eight?” Yaz barks, stepping out of the way to give Canine some of her attention instead. 

“Yeah. One point off because I couldn’t see your arms while you were doing it,” Dennie starts, voice wavering with each swing. Her smirk comes easily when Yaz turns to pout at her in rebuke. “And another off for your attitude.”

Yaz shakes her head, tutting. “You are so lucky you’re on that swing right now.”

“Oh, yeah? What would you do otherwise?” Dennie flirts unashamedly, catching her tongue between her teeth. 

“I’d —” 

“Girls, I’ve got your drinks!” Sarah Jane crosses to the garden table, oblivious to the topic of discussion. 

With a hand at Canine’s head, scratching behind his ears, Yaz heads back over. 

Rather than wait for the swing to slow, Dennie takes a leap when it reaches the highest point and narrowly avoids a lower branch. 

Yaz can tell without having to look by the way Sarah Jane takes in a sharp inhale from beside her, arching a chiding brow in an expression mothers learn to perfect. “Jayden, please be more careful.” 

Wincing as she brushes herself down and sheepishly pads towards them, Dennie looks every inch a child scolded for taking too many biscuits from the tin. “Sorry, mum.”

Yaz can’t resist her snicker when Dennie settles in the chair beside her with red cheeks and a guilty smile. 

While she takes a sip from her drink — a deliciously cool concoction from Sarah Jane’s list of expertise, Dennie hooks her ankle over her knee at her side and plucks grass from her sock. 

“Mum, Yaz and I, we’re —” 

“Engaged?”

Both women glance across at the same time, eyes wide with shock. 

Dennie pats Yaz’s back when she chokes on her sip, then leaves her hand where it is. 

“ _Mum_ ! I was going to tell you we’re _together_. We — how did you even —” 

Sarah Jane blinks in quick succession, tilting her head. “I thought you were already —” 

“Nope.”

“You haven’t been together this whole time?” Sarah Jane repeats, genuine surprise lacing her tone, and Yaz has no choice but to laugh into her next sip. “I could’ve sworn—” 

Yaz ducks her head, grateful for the ice-cold drink when her cheeks flare. She clears her throat. “We’re a bit lacking on the subtlety side, Sarah Jane. Seems like everyone had it sussed before we did.”

“I can’t believe this,” Dennie murmurs to herself, still stumped. There’s an adorable crinkle between her brows and Yaz reaches for the hand tucked around her shoulders to entwine their fingers in a now-familiar movement. “How long have you thought we were together for?”

“Jayden, you’ve been non-stop talking about her for years, and no one talks about their best friend that much. I just presumed.” Sarah Jane shrugs, on the smug side of surprise. “Plus, I’ve always been an excellent journalist. One has to be observant in the field — and of people, in particular. Sorry, ladies, but you’re quite obvious.” 

“So, you’re okay with it? It’s alright?” 

Suddenly nervous, Yaz chips in, “I really do like your daughter, Sarah Jane. She’s — like — the best person I’ve ever met. I’m really lucky.”

Like putty, the blonde at her side melts, tilting her head with glossy green eyes and parted lips as though she’s just about to kiss her. 

Sarah Jane clears her throat politely. “Anyone who can handle my daughter’s energy is a blessing.” 

Dennie turns back with a huff, expression filtering back into its usual scrunching pout. “Oi.”

“She’s got a point, Dennie,” Yaz teases, giving her hand a squeeze. 

“Wow.” Dennie takes another sip of her drink and glances between them both in clear consternation. “I get my first girlfriend and immediately she takes sides with my mum.”

“She’s a wise woman,” Sarah Jane notes through laughing eyes. “You could learn a lot from her.”

  
  


A short time later, while Dennie is busy tumbling on the lawn, playing fetch with Canine and doing virtually anything possible to get as scruffy and grass-stained as she can, Yaz wilts under the weight of the older woman’s gaze. 

When she turns to regard Sarah Jane, she finds a warm smile and a hint of pride in the laughter lines of her otherwise unblemished skin. It makes the tips of her ears burn.

“You love her, don’t you?” Sarah Jane prompts. It’s not interfering, nor demanding or nosy. 

In fact, it’s more of a statement. 

There’s a jolt somewhere in the pit of her stomach when the words are laid bare so tenderly. 

They hover in the space between them, lit by the lazy morning sun and exposed for the taking. 

While Yaz is busy unravelling her thoughts like acrylic paint on a canvas tilted just so, Sarah Jane’s smile broadens as though she’s found the best scoop of the century. 

It would be useless to fight against it, so Yaz simply offers her own bashful smile, leaning back in her chair and letting her gaze return to the figure sprawled across the grass with Canine’s towering form slumped over her chest. 

In time with Dennie plucking a daisy from the grass beside her to tuck into Canine’s collar, Yaz gives in with a wistful sigh. 

“When do you think I should tell her?”

“Before it’s too late,” Sarah Jane supplies, dropping her chin into her palm and tilting her head. It’s not a sad statement, as one would expect, but a brief reminder. Life is short and moments like these should be cherished. “Don’t waste a minute, Yaz. But — but make it a good one, and obviously you need to be ready.”

“Have you ever —” Yaz twists back to better face her, willing her gaze not to flit back to her goofy girlfriend even when she laughs and starts yapping away to the dog. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but Dennie’s never mentioned anyone else. Has there been anyone—” 

“There was someone, once, yes,” Sarah Jane answers wistfully, her smile fueled by warmth rather than grief or anguish. It must’ve been a while ago, then. “They were quite extraordinary.” 

“Oh?” Yaz prompts with a cheeky grin which makes Sarah Jane blush and laugh unabashedly. “No one ever beat them since, huh?” 

“Not even close.” The other woman takes a sip from her tea, turning her reverent gaze to the bracelet curled around her wrist and the clock-face charm which clings to it vehemently. 

Hearing a faint commotion from her left, Yaz glances across just in time to catch Dennie waving at them while Canine divests her of the need to take in oxygen. 

Yaz waves back with a barely concealed beam. Her next words are muffled with laughter, but Sarah Jane can still hear them. “I think I know how you feel already.” 

* * *

Sarah Jane has an album open before her in no time and Yaz is all too happy to learn the story behind each photograph collaged neatly into the pages. 

“These are two of her longest staying foster siblings; John and Eli,” Sarah Jane points out, hand hovering over a weathered photograph of a scrawny Dennie and two older children; one with short, spiky hair and the other with floppy brown hair and a large chin. Yaz recognises them vaguely from their minimal meetings. “John’s working in the university here lecturing physics, now, and Eli lives with his boyfriend in London. John’s been asking after you, actually, Jayden. They said you won’t return their texts?”

Dennie lifts her head from the grass and scrunches her nose in disgust. “Mum, they sent me a card full of beetles and a pair of age three to four socks for my birthday. I’m waiting until they open the parcel I’ve sent them back before I unblock them.”

“Honestly, you two.” Sarah Jane shakes her head, offering Yaz an exasperated smile. “You’re like children.” 

“Not my fault they’re such an arse—” 

“ _Jayden_.”

“Sorry, mum.” 

Yaz snickers once more, taking delight in the way Sarah Jane has her girlfriend wrapped around her thumb while also noting the pronouns in a quick reminder. “How many children did you foster while Dennie was growing up, in the end?” 

Both mother and daughter work in tandem with twin hums of consideration, and warmth blossoms in her chest at the similarities she continues to find between them. 

“She was quite a handful on her own until she was around six, but after that… thirteen, maybe?” Sarah Jane approximates, lifting her gaze from the page to seek Dennie’s confirmation. 

“Thirteen? That’s amazing, Sarah Jane,” Yaz praises, awestruck. “You’re a pretty incredible woman.”

“Most of them only stayed for a short length of time before finding families.” Sarah Jane shrugs, flipping over onto the next page of her album. Yaz shakes her head at her stubborn modesty. “And Dennie was more than happy to make so many friends.”

“It was like one big slumber party,” Dennie notes with a genuine grin, sitting up only to be nudged back down when Canine nestles his head in her lap and nudges at her for attention. When he grumbles, she returns to scratching him behind his ears and patting his large stomach. 

Another page turned, another story. 

“She’s four, here, and she’d just found out that if you dig holes at the beach, there’s usually water beneath. She’d spend all her time making swimming pools in the sand rather than just going in the sea,” Sarah Jane recalls with a teasing lilt to her tone, pointing out another photo. 

At hearing an embarrassing retelling of her past, Dennie huffs and heads into the house to fetch another treat for the ever-hungry Canine. 

A second later, Yaz is glancing through pictures of Dennie’s first day at school when a text comes through on her phone. 

When she unlocks and opens the message there’s a photo of another nature altogether waiting to greet her. 

_dennie [11:58AM]: thought you could do with a more up to date pic than that lot [image]_

Yaz is forced to clear her throat mid-conversation when the picture attached displays a lithe wrist peeking out from the top of tartan pyjama shorts and a flat, faintly toned stomach just in view. It’s abundantly clear what the hand beneath her shorts is doing and it’s enough to make her press her own thighs together. 

“Everything alright, Yaz?” Sarah Jane asks in gentle concern, likely noticing the sudden flush to her cheeks and the way she fidgets. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, you were saying?” 

_yaz [11:59AM]: you’re playing with fire right now that was unfair wtf_

“So, she’d gotten all her classmates together and they revolted against her teacher for stealing all the easter biscuits rather than letting them take them home.”

_dennie [12:00PM]: :) [image]_

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Yaz breathes when the next image comes through, which encompasses Dennie’s bare chest and pert, hardened nubs as well as the hand tucked between her legs. 

Oblivious, Sarah Jane continues. “I _know_. She’s been protective of her biscuits ever since. I should’ve known, really.” 

When Dennie pads out from the house brandishing a dog treat and an innocent grin, they lock eyes in a heated exchange. 

“I hate you,” Yaz mouths, squirming in her metal garden chair. 

Dennie catches her bottom lip between her teeth and lifts the treat out of reach of the towering great dane. “No, you don’t,” she throws back. 

Distracted, however, the enormous dog bowls her over with ease, and she hits the ground with a grunt. “Canine, you giant _lump_. What was that for?” 

* * *

As soon as Sarah Jane heads inside to take a sudden call from a friend, a thankfully short time later, Yaz rounds on Dennie like a predator.

Dennie’s using a stick to draw Canine’s tennis ball from the tree when Yaz approaches her. She turns her around with a hand at her waist, earning a pinch of the blonde’s brow. 

“When did you take those?” Yaz purrs, toying at the hem of her ruffled university t-shirt and drawing Dennie’s train of thought back to their earlier exchange.

Dennie drops the stick in her hand and lets Canine carry it away in favour of looping an arm around her neck and creeping her fingers through her hair despite its loose bun. “Last night.”

“That was cruel,” Yaz leans in until their noses brush, breathing hotly just shy of her lips. 

But Dennie closes the distance, emboldened, to press a kiss to the corner of her lips. “So were you for not staying around.”

“Babe, I had to come home. I’ve barely been at my flat recently. Sonya wanted to catch up.”

“Didn’t have to wind me up so much before you left, though,” Dennie sighs, drawing her closer. She curls her fingers through her belt loops, slotting their hips together with a pleased grunt. “Now _that_ was evil.”

Smugly, Yaz lifts her chin to seek out desire-coated hazel. “I only kissed you on the doorstep.”

Blinking through visions of hands exploring her chest and another at the slope of her backside, then a thigh hooked over the curve of a hip, Dennie keens on her next exhale. “Definitely wasn’t just a kiss, Yaz.” 

Yaz ducks her head to kiss the place where jaw meets neck, whispering in her ear, “Did you think of me when you were touching yourself?”

With a strained hum but an earnest tone, Dennie cups a handful of her backside and closes the distance between them entirely, letting Yaz nudge her back up against the tree her beloved swing is home to. “I’m always thinking about you.”

“Christ, Dennie,” Yaz sighs seconds before meeting her lips in a heady kiss charged with unravelled tension. “Next time,” she continues, swiping her tongue along her bottom lip before it delves past her lips, “Call me before you finish, babe.” 

“ _Yaz_ ,” Dennie sighs, voice lifting in pitch. She greets Yaz’s invading tongue with her own, slipping a hand around the back of her neck to keep her close. “That an order?” she rasps between kisses. 

“If you want it to be,” Yaz purrs, cupping her jaw when Dennie tries to deepen the kiss. Instead, Yaz ducks her head to her neck, mapping out her jumping pulse. “And if you’ve got any more of those pictures…”

Dennie tilts her head back for more, bark cracking and flaking off the surface behind her with each fidgeting movement. “Yeah?”

“Save them for me,” Yaz nips at the corner of her jaw then soothes it with her tongue, relishing in Dennie’s resultant hiss of approval. “And my eyes only.” 

“Yours, Yaz.” Dennie slips her hand into her back pocket, squeezing if only to grant herself some friction from Yaz’s hips. “They’re all yours.” 

“Don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you tonight,” Yaz sighs, leaning up to press their foreheads together again and curl her free hand into the material at her waist. The old oak’s low branches keep them hidden from the conservatory where Sarah Jane chatters away, but the idea of being caught still thrums deliciously at the base of her spine. 

“Then don’t,” Dennie murmurs back, voice shaky. Every time she leans in to chase her lips, Yaz tilts her head just so. “ _Yaz_ …” 

“Our tents are going to be right next to each other, babe,” Yaz reminds her, narrowly escaping another kiss, “You know Bill and Rose’ll hear.” 

Dennie huffs, “Don’t care.” 

“I do. I know how loud you can be, babe,” Yaz pecks her lips when she finds she can resist no longer but pulls back teasingly when Dennie parts her lips against her. “And I’d rather be the only one who can hear you.” 

“Kiss me, Yaz, please.” 

“Ask me again.” 

“ _Please_ , Yaz. Kiss me?” 

“Good,” Yaz hums, diminishing the remaining distance and granting herself a few minutes more of blissful heaven. 

* * *

“I had mister Smith compile these cases into one big file and simplify it all for you,” Sarah Jane informs her daughter as she hands the brown folder over, bursting at the seams. 

Dennie’s beaming grin at the sight should worry her, but Yaz is too lost in the curve of her top lip to pay it any mind. “Mum, you can’t keep calling your laptop mister Smith, it’s weird,” she groans, squinting under the sun’s rays. “You should try Tinder.” 

“Oh, bugger off,” Sarah Jane crows, swatting at the air just shy of her file. “You kids and your obsession with doing everything online. In my day we’d —” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mm-hm. I know, mum.” Dennie rolls her eyes, letting Sarah Jane copy the motion until she sweeps in for a hug goodbye. “Thank mister Smith for me, eh?” she gripes, pulling back with a snicker. 

“Take no notice of her, Sarah Jane,” Yaz teases when she moves in for her own squeezing hug. “And take care of yourself, alright?” 

“Bye, Canine, you old fart,” Dennie goads to the dog level with her hip, crouching to bury her face in his neck and give him another round of eager scratches. “Love you, buddy. Have a treat on me.” 

“You’ve already given him a week’s worth, Jayden.”

“Don’t listen to the madwoman, Canine. You know she’s named her computer, right? Yeah, proper lost it.” When Canine whines, she grins, letting him lick her cheek. “I couldn’t agree more, mate.”

“And she says you’re mad,” Yaz crows to Sarah Jane, who barks out a laugh at the same time as Canine slobbers over Dennie’s shoulder. 

* * *

  
  


“You better have a shower before you come near me again, babe.” 

“What? Why? We’re on our own now, Yaz. Nobody’s looking.”

“You’ve been practically making out with Canine all morning, Den. I want to kiss you and think of Dennie Smith, not your mum’s dog.”

“Not even one kiss?”

“Nope.”

“Fine. You better make this shower worth it, Yaz.” 

“Promis— mmph!” 

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Dennie! If you’re not in that shower within the next ten seconds…”

“I’m off! I’m off. God, you’re so demanding. S’kinda sexy. Could you say that again?”

“Go!” 

“ _Alright!”_

  
  


* * *

_bill [1:47PM]: meet at the entrance to the forest at 3 idiots_

_bill [1:47PM]: got a surprise for us too but im not telling_

_dennie [1:48PM]: is it a dog_

_bill [1:50PM]: no mate_

_dennie [1:50PM]: then i dont care_

_bill [1:51PM]: wow see u then babes go hug a cactus_

_yaz [1:52PM]: guys please play nice tonight_

_yaz [1:53PM]: guys??_

_yaz [1:53PM]: smh_

  
  


* * *

“Are you sure you’ve got everything, babe?” Yaz laughs, sizing up the mustard yellow bucket hat sitting atop her girlfriend’s still drying hair and the short denim dungarees bracketing her chest loosely. She looks so adorable that Yaz isn’t sure she wants to let her leave and have her grace anyone else’s gaze. 

She eyes the small, navy, star-dusted rucksack slung over her shoulder in consternation while Dennie shrugs. “Think so, yeah. Why? D’you think I’ve forgotten something?”

“Uhh,” Yaz drawls, squinting to determine whether her girlfriend is playing dumb or not. 

When Dennie merely blinks at her, toeing rainbow-socked feet into a pair of brown ankle-high walking boots, she shakes her head. 

Yaz clips her tripod to the side of her bag and encloses her camera inside before zipping it up. “It’s a pretty big thing, babe. Quite important.”

“Big… important…” she hears Dennie whisper to herself, surveying her open apartment in clueless deliberation. “Nope. No idea, Yaz.”

With a sigh which comes out half as a laugh, Yaz leans against the breakfast bar and folds her arms. “What can’t you go camping without, Dennie?” 

Crouching to tie her laces, Dennie worries her bottom lip between her teeth and furrows her brow in thought. “A sturdy camping chair? Although, saying that, logs are a lot more fun. Tree branches are even better. Solid thirteen out of ten on the comfy scale.”

“Yes, babe. But that wasn’t what I’m thinking about,” Yaz admires the way her forearms work all the way down to her slender fingers as she ties an intricate knot. Somehow, she does it without even approaching the usual method. It’s as though she scrunches the material into a ball, swats at it a little, and hopes for the best.

When she straightens back up, Dennie naturally gravitates towards her. “Um — a change of underwear?”

“I’m really hoping you’ve got that, yeah — but again, not what I’m thinking,” Yaz sets her hands respectfully at Dennie’s waist, leaning back when Dennie’s own wind lazily around her neck. 

“Always have to have a spare pair when you’re around,” Dennie mumbles under her breath, flushing pink when Yaz catches on. She’s always been a bit of an oversharer, but this kind of information Yaz is more than welcome to hear. She wets her lips, saving that tidbit for another time. “Marshmallows? No, we’ve got those already… hat, scarf and gloves?”

“Why — babe, why would we need those?” 

“In case the seasons change overnight?” Dennie rebukes, tone serious. Yaz snorts. “You’re laughing now, but you never know, Yaz. You’re going to be the one stuck out in the snow in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.”

“You’re so weird,” Yaz supplies, feeling Dennie begin to toy with the end of her French plait. 

“Aw, thanks, Yaz.”

Rolling her eyes, Yaz leans in to press a kiss to her nose. She’s an inch from copying the motion on her cheek when she whispers, “It was the tent, babe.” She pulls back, meeting Dennie’s pouting face. “You forgot the tent.” 

“The _tent_! Of course. Got a new one, actually. It’s brilliant. Very subtle,” Dennie enthuses, bouncing on her toes and wiggling her brows. 

Yaz squints at her. “It’s like a giant pride flag, isn’t it?” 

Dennie grins, catching her tongue between pearly whites and absolutely not sorry at all. “Yep.” 

* * *

By the time the obnoxiously bright tent has been pitched and Bill has made at least thirteen jokes about it some three hours later, they’re in amidst a vast woodland split in half by a river of fresh, clear water. 

“Oi, guys!” Bill’s voice comes over the sound of the flowing water, pausing Yaz in the application of sunscreen to Dennie’s already reddened face and arms. “I found a tree swing!” 

Dennie wriggles impatiently on the log in front of her, eyes cast towards the source of Bill’s shout. Yaz quickens her efforts like a mother with their child, desperate to keep her in place for long enough before she eventually embodies the colour of a tomato. 

With one last swipe of suncream along her nose, Yaz straightens up and motions towards the river. “Okay, all done. Off you go. I’ll grab the camera and be there in a sec.” 

Before she goes, she presses a grateful kiss to Yaz’s cheek which smells like fresh coconut. “Thanks, Yaz. You’re the best,” she sighs a second before twisting on her heel and jogging through fallen pine needles with an excited squawk. 

Yaz watches her go with no less adoration than usual. 

Ten minutes later, that adoration turns to exasperation again. 

It’s a constant repetitive process where Dennie is concerned; lust, to bemusement, to adoration, to exasperation. And repeat. 

Clinging to a greenish rope with all her might, Dennie swings six inches above the flowing river with a gleeful grin, and Yaz sets her camera to record. 

On the returning swoop towards them, her boots fail to find purchase on the riverbank and skid through the earth instead, kicking up dust. 

Though she’s closest to the landing spot, Bill doesn’t even make an attempt to catch her wriggling form before she sways back over the rushing water. 

“You said you’d catch me!” Dennie squeaks, slipping a touch further down the rope when her hand slips on mossy residue. 

Bill bends at the waist to contain her laughter in front of Yaz’s moving camera, folding her arms and stepping back on Dennie’s next approach. “Did I? Don’t remember, babes.” 

“Prick!” Dennie screeches on the next swing, unable to gain traction once more. 

Giving Bill a playful shove, Rose takes her place with her arms spread. “Don’t worry, Dennie. I’ll grab the rope next time! Just lean this way a bit.”

Failure, again, and even Yaz can’t help but crack a grin this time, stifling her laughter behind the camera. “Dennie, just let go!”

“Are you sure?” the blonde calls back, eyeing the rushing water beneath her feet. It’s not too deep, thankfully, and while quick, the current is unlikely to be powerful enough to drag her away. 

Yaz nods, opening her free arm out at Rose’s side, the camera still rolling in the other hand. “Definitely.”

But when Dennie drops further down the rope at the edge of the river, Yaz blames herself for not being clear enough for her dumb girlfriend. “No, when you get to the edge, not over the water—” 

Dennie’s yell and the crash of a body hitting the surface of the water interrupts her instruction before it has a chance to see the light of day. 

When a head of sopping blonde hair breaches the surface and she paddles over like a puppy during its first swim, Bill’s wheezing laughter drowns out the sound of streaming water. 

As soon as she has climbed up onto the bank and gotten to her feet, clothes dripping and hair stuck to her face, Dennie sets her eyes on Bill and storms forward. “I’m going to beat the sh—” 

“Recording, Den,” Yaz interrupts. 

Backing up into the treeline, Bill smirks with the cockiness of someone who’s just scammed another out of their entire life savings. In a way, inviting her to the tree swing in the knowledge that Dennie would immediately want to try it out is almost the same thing. Bouncing on her toes, the athlete offers Dennie a competitive glare. “Gotta catch me first.” 

While Dennie sprints after her through the woodland back to their tent in boots which squelch obscenely with every step, Yaz ends her recording with a snicker. 

“Are they always like that?” Rose quips from her side, flushed with adrenaline just from watching the display. 

“Pretty much,” Yaz returns, slinging the strap of her camera around her neck and falling into step alongside her at an exceedingly more relaxed pace. “Sometimes I feel like a single mum permanently running around after her two kids.” A beat. “Actually, no. I think that would be _easier_.” 

“Dennie’s totally wrapped around your little finger, though,” Rose murmurs in observation, her tone reminiscent. “I’ve never seen her like this.” 

Cheeks warming at the attention, Yaz shrugs a shoulder. Up ahead, she hears Bill yell and her girlfriend laugh in quick concession. “She’s, uh — learning, I guess? And growing. She’s changed a bit since school, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. She never used to be this confident,” Rose answers honestly, hopping over a fallen branch likely caused by their friends. The answer stops Yaz short for a moment, and it must show on her face when Rose glances across at her. “I mean, sure, she’s always been lively, but only with Sarah Jane or a select few. I never thought she’d be confident enough to have such a big presence online and explore for a living with you guys.” 

“Huh.” Yaz swats a fly from her shoulder and continues forward through the trees, their camp ever closer. “I’ve never known her to be shy. Must’ve been university to bring her out of her shell a bit.” 

“Pretty sure it might just be you, mate. Take some credit where it’s due, Yaz.”

Ducking her head, Yaz kicks another branch aside and slips a hand into the pocket of her jeans, deciding to change the topic before she begins unashamedly gushing about her girlfriend. If she starts, she doesn’t think she’ll stop. “What about you and Bill, hm? Seems like you’ve been talking a lot recently.”

Rose blows out her cheeks as they reach their tents, settling herself down into a camp chair and crossing her ankles. It’s not hard to tell she’s a model in the way she holds herself, back straight and elegantly poised — but it’s the only hint. She’s a natural beauty and she’s humble in it.

“She’s great. She’s a total laugh,” Rose starts in earnest, smiling despite herself as she picks at a loose thread on the arm of the chair. 

Yaz pauses in stashing her camera away, turning back with a furrow to her brow. Although she can be the most irritating person on the planet, Bill is still one of her closest friends. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ incoming.”

In defence, Rose lifts her hands, palms open. “Believe me, I like her. I’m just trying to go slow, that’s all. I want her to like me because of my personality, not ‘cause I do photoshoots in bikinis and lingerie for a living. I’m just — I’m trying to be realistic, you know? I can’t help but be wary.” 

“That’s fair game.” Yaz nods in understanding, finding a change of clothes for Dennie once she’s back from wherever they disappeared to and slipping them into the tent in readiness. Once that’s done she turns back and sinks into Dennie’s bright yellow chair. “She didn’t even know you were a model until yesterday, if that helps.”

She doesn’t miss Rose’s intake of breath or the guilty grimace to follow. “Wait, really?” 

Yaz nods, propping an ankle over her knee and offering a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, she had no idea.” Rose is a good one, she knows that — she’s a friend of Dennie’s, after all. And she can understand where she’s coming from. “But I think it’s good that you’re taking your time. Bill has a habit of being too trusting, too quick, as well, so I think you’re pretty similar in that respect.”

“Thank you,” Rose murmurs distractedly, gnawing at a full bottom lip. “For telling me that, I mean. I feel like I should apologise.” 

“Don’t. Honestly, you’ve every right to be cautious.” Yaz’s expression bears compassion and warmth over conviction, and Rose’s shoulders relax under its ease. “Just talk to her. Let her know what you’re so worried about. Believe me, she’ll understand. She’s a total dick and I hate her most of the time, but she’s also my best mate.” 

“Thanks, Yaz.” Rose laughs in lieu of her insult, lifting her gaze from her lap to regard Yaz with a renewed sense of respect which makes the other woman blush. “Dennie’s got good taste.” 

“Just don’t tell Bill I said anything,” Yaz teases, letting a ladybug crawl over the back of her hand and settle at her thumb before it takes flight, akin to the thoughts likely swirling in her new friend’s mind. “It’ll ruin her badass reputation.” 

“She sent me a picture of her favourite teddy bear this morning, mate,” Rose indulges like it’s a grand secret. Yaz’s jaw slackens in surprise. “She doesn’t have a badass rep.” 

“No way. Is there anything else she’s done?” Yaz shuffles up when Rose nods, routing through her pocket for her phone. “Not that I’ll use it as blackmail material or anything.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Rose taps in her passcode and opens up her messages. “Not at all.”

* * *

By the time Bill and Dennie come back from their wrestling match, bedraggled and out of breath, Yaz and Rose are in fits of uncontrollable laughter. 

Dennie is the first to react, still sopping wet and shivering slightly when she rounds on Yaz’s chair. “Glad to see you’re getting on. What’s so funny?”

Yaz is too preoccupied with taking in oxygen through bouts of laughter to answer, so she simply presents her phone. 

A photo of a scruffy, dishevelled blue bear with only one eye later and a round of snickering giggles from Dennie, Bill leans back on her haunches with folded arms, glancing between all three in suspicion. “Have I missed something?”

After a pregnant pause, Rose triggers another flurry of laughter which leaves Dennie slumped on the ground at the foot of Yaz’s chair, clutching her sides. 

  
  


* * *

_@denniesmithofficial 10 June 2020 [4:32PM]: bill still sleeps with a teddy bear at night pass it on_

_@yazkhans 10 June 2020 [4:32PM]: bill still sleeps with a teddy bear at night pass it on_

_@tylersofficial 10 June 2020 [4:34PM]: sorry @pottsbill x_

_@tylersofficial @pottsbill: blocked_

_@denniestan 10 June 2020 [4:40PM]: i dont like it when my mummies are fighting : (((_

_@gaysroaming 10 June 2020 [4:45PM]: when will the h*nd content come back from war_

_@gaysroaming: anyway stan bill potts and her teddy bear_

* * *

“If two of us take an end each, and we run at the tree with it, surely that’ll break it in half, right?” Bill theorises to herself, hands on her hips. She seeks Dennie out with her gaze and finds her busy eating custard creams and watching Yaz bend over to grab her camera from her bag. “Psst, Dennie. There’s time to gaze at Yaz’s arse later. You in?”

Clueless, Dennie trades a flushed expression with Yaz when she straightens up, camera in hand. She’s well and truly caught out and it makes Yaz more smug than she’d like to admit. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm in. what’s going on?” Dennie quips, jogging over in her change of clothes — a pair of denim shorts and a pink hoodie a size too big for her.

Bill hefts one end of the ten-foot branch up and nods to the other end. Yaz watches her arms shift appreciatively when Dennie lifts it without too much struggle, already moving her camera into position. 

“We’re using it for the fire, but it needs to be broken in half first. When I count down from five, we run as fast as we can towards the tree, okay?”

Yaz frowns. “Guys, that’s never going to work…” but she raises her camera anyway and starts rolling. 

At her side, Rose holds a hand up over her eyes, watching through her fingers. 

“Not enough positivity there, Yaz. C’mon, have a bit of faith,” Bill grunts, steadying herself.

It’s like two cavernous minds meeting and deciding to out-stupid each other. 

“5, 4, 3, 2... 1.” 

They run, in unison. 

They collide with a crash. 

Both hit the ground with a thump from their combined force and the branch barely gives. 

Dennie groans, winded, while Bill just drags herself back up and lifts the branch again. “Come on, mate. One more try. Don’t worry, I’m only willing to risk _one_ of your lungs for this.”

Dennie hauls herself back up again and wipes a bead of sweat from her brow. Yaz settles back into position despite wanting to check her over. Part of her wants to stop them, but the more dominant half wants to show the world how truly dumb her best friends are. “Dennie you okay?”

“Yeah. Good. Peachy. We’ve got this.” 

Again, they run, and again, they’re thrown to the ground. 

However the wood splinters then snaps, and Yaz lowers her camera to blink at the sight as though it’s a miracle. 

Dennie grins in victory as she climbs on top of her severed half, wobbling above the wood as she finds her balance. “Brilliant. Bonfire time?”

Bill shakes her head, openly shocked that they succeeded. Yaz presumes it’s another bid to show her girlfriend up and snickers to herself at the fact she’d failed. Of course Dennie could find a way to make the most idiotic task still work. 

“Did you see that, Yaz? That was _ace_ ,” Dennie cries, every inch a puppy having learnt a new trick.

Just seconds before she jumps on the end of the branch and sends it careening towards her face.

Ten minutes later, with Dennie’s nosebleed finally stemmed, Yaz huffs out an exhale. “Every time you even move an inch, there’s an accident waiting to happen, babe.” 

Wriggling her nose around a wad of tissue, Dennie grins. “Can’t help that accidents fancy me, babe.”

Yaz drops her hand from where it was mopping at her top lip and levels her with a squint. “That’s not even a compliment— what are you even saying — are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“Don’t think so,” Dennie murmurs, reaching up to prod and poke through her hair. Finding nothing, she leans forward, her wavy, still drying hair curtaining her face. “D’you reckon if it hit me hard enough I could suddenly speak a new language?”

Yaz drags her palm over her face and groans. “Please don’t test that theory. I genuinely don’t think your skull could take it and I’d really like this relationship to last longer than a couple of months, babe.” 

When she glances back up, Dennie’s smile is full of amusement. “Jokes. Glad to know you still like me, though. That’s brilliant.” 

“‘Course I do, you moron,” Yaz squeezes the knee closest. “Now can you please just chill out for five minutes? Take a breather? Maybe not injure yourself?” 

“Can I help light the fire?” 

Yaz shivers at the thought. Dennie and open flames do not and have never mixed well. “Think you’d best leave that to Rose and I, okay?” 

Dennie sits back and folds her arms, nudging twigs around at her feet into the form of a broken heart. She should’ve gone into acting, really, with the performance she’s putting on. _“Fine_.” 

Yaz rolls her eyes and chuckles to herself, reaching out to ruffle her naturally faintly wavy hair. “You look cute, by the way. I like you in pink.” 

Blushing and hiding a flustered smile despite her irritation, Dennie grumbles. “Shut up.”

* * *

Over roasted, oozing marshmallows and a handful of gooey, sticky smores, the group chatter between themselves and bask in the warmth from the modest bonfire. 

Bill has a small speaker set up beside her feet which plays music from a playlist they usually utilise on their travels. At present, a slow strumming guitar is the rhythm to which Bill subtly inches closer to the blonde at her side. 

“They’re looking cosy,” Yaz notes quietly, catching Dennie’s attention with a tap to the back of her hand. The blonde whips her head around and lifts her brows.

When Bill drops a hand to Rose’s forearm and they both go quiet, gaze flickering between eyes and mouths in a telling motion, Yaz gasps under her breath. “Do you think they’re going to —” 

“ _Achoo_!” Dennie squeaks in a sneeze far too dramatic to be deemed genuine. 

Both women jump apart as though burnt and Dennie buries her face in her hood to hide her amusement, though it’s obvious in the way her shoulders tremble. 

Yaz thinks she sees Bill glance her girlfriend’s way with a scrutinising glare, but she’s too busy staring holes into her shoes to keep her own laughter at bay. 

“You’re such a spoilsport,” she whispers to Dennie a moment later, dropping a hand to her knee to keep her pale legs warm. When the blonde winces slightly, hissing through her next exhale, Yaz turns her way with knitted brows. “Sorry — you okay?”

Dennie shies away from her gaze, nodding quickly. “Yeah, peachy.” 

“Dennie.”

She wilts, as always, gesturing to the jagged white line even visible in the light of the fire which graces the hemline of her shorts. “Just a bit achy, that’s all.”

“I did _tell you_ to go easy —” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dennie huffs, adjusting to get more comfortable while also alleviating the work of the muscles in her leg. “Don’t need to tell me you told me so.” 

“Come here,” Yaz instructs, patting her leg and sitting back in her chair. 

“It’s not going to take our weight, Yaz. I can’t just —” 

“C’mon. Hop on.”

With some shuffling and a faint grunt — Dennie’s heavier than she thought — Yaz has her perched sideways in her lap while she inspects her still healing scar. “Is it okay if I do some of those massages your physio mentioned? Or are you too sore?”

Dennie slings an arm around her shoulders, worrying her bottom lip. “Uh — go ahead. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

“You’ve been doing these every day, right? Like he said?” Yaz probes as she curls her hand around her thigh and presses gently with the heel of her palm just shy of the injury. When Dennie doesn’t reply, instead burying her face in her shoulder to hiss, Yaz turns her head. “Dennie, _come on_. You’re meant to work your muscles before you go running about and swimming in rivers.” 

“Kept forgetting,” Dennie mumbles, the muscles beneath Yaz’s palm rock solid until she starts kneading and unravelling them beneath her hand. Dennie’s grunts and whines melt against her shoulder but she doesn’t stop her. “And it hurt.”

“Everything okay?” another voice interrupts soon enough and Bill’s faintly concerned face comes into view. 

Yaz rolls her eyes and peels her hand back to give Dennie a minute to compose herself. “Just some pain from the injury. She hasn’t been listening to her physio.”

“Dennie, you do realise that bloke’s trained to know what’s best for you, right?” Bill chides, earning a glare from the blonde when she peels back from Yaz’s neck. “Lucky for you, I’ve brought along some things which might help.” 

“Painkillers?”

“Even better,” Bill quips, drawing out a biscuit tin from her bag and presenting half a dozen brownies. “Help yourself, mate.” 

Unable to resist the urges of her sweet tooth, Dennie immediately dives for one and takes an enthusiastic bite. “Oh my god, you’re the best.”

Yaz, however, is understandably suspicious. When Bill notices the wary look on her face, she winks, and suddenly she reckons Dennie really ought to know better.

“Christ’s sake, Bill. Are those edibles?” Yaz barks at the same time as Dennie shoves the rest of it into her mouth just to see if it can fit. 

“Would you like the truth or would you like to wait and see what happens?” Bill laughs, biting into her own. “Also, they’re brilliant painkillers. You should be thanking me, mate.” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Dennie giggles with a pat to Yaz’s shoulder. “I usually just get sleepy. Can I have another one?”

“Nah, mate. You’re tiny. One’s enough. Yaz? Do you want one? No pressure.”

“I can’t believe you fell for that again,” Yaz teases her. She takes a swig of water and studies the box Bill is brandishing before breaking off a piece to bite into. “Thanks, mate. I think?” 

Dennie laughs, shifting in her lap to get comfier. Now she’s there, she’s reluctant to let her go. When Bill wanders back to her seat beside Rose and offers another to the blonde, Yaz slips a hand just under Dennie’s hoodie, resting it on her hip. 

“It feels like we’re back at uni again,” Dennie admits, turning her gaze to the rest of the group so they’re not being anti-social. Yaz strokes at the slope of her hip and warms the skin there with little effort. 

“I miss university,” Bill adds, lifting her arm to rest along the back of Rose's chair in a move Yaz wishes she was as smooth at. 

Yaz brushes a kiss to Dennie’s cheek when she leans across to steal her water bottle, delighting in the charmed grin it coaxes. “Me too. Remember the trips with the rounders club? Those were proper ace.” 

“Remember Dennie only joining the team so she could check you out all afternoon?” Bill prompts, dodging out of the way when Dennie tosses the bottle in her direction instead. 

“That was my drink, babe.”

“Sorry, Yaz. Reflex action.”

“C’mon, Dennie. I’m just telling the truth.” 

“Piss off, Potts.” 

“ _Guys_.” 

* * *

  
  


Rose is the first to offer up a glazed look and a round of suspicious giggles half an hour later, putting together another smore to bite into with a hum. 

From there, it’s like a domino effect. 

Where Yaz relaxes into her chair with a sigh, general anxiety easing, Dennie tenses up in her lap with a furrowed brow, tucking closer to her chest. “Yaz, d’you think trees can talk? ‘Cos I think that one wants a scrap.” 

Yaz follows where Dennie is pointing towards a pine tree opposite, tucking her arm closer around her in a lazy, fatigued movement. “Dunno what you’re talking about, babe.” 

“You can’t see it?” Dennie whispers, wide, dilated pupils set on the unmoving branches. “It keeps staring at me.” 

“Dennie, mate, chill out,” Bill gripes from the opposite side of the fire, laughing dazedly when Dennie curses and buries her face in Yaz’s neck. “Have some water.” 

“Water’s evil,” Dennie announces quickly, squirming in Yaz’s hold. “The trees might’ve poisoned it.” 

“Babe,” Yaz coos gently, threading her fingers through Dennie’s hair and letting her burrow against her again. “Relax. Just close your eyes.”

“I can’t, Yaz,” Dennie gripes. “The _trees_.” 

“Do you want me to have a word?” she proposes, smoothing her free hand up and down her girlfriend’s spine when she trembles. “I can tell them to bugger off, if you want.”

“No,” Dennie grasps at her orange jumper and bunches it between her fingers. She’s a solid weight against her when Yaz goes to sit up. “Don’t move. If you move, they’ll turn you into one of them. Or fall on us. Or worse.” 

“Would you prefer it if we went to the tent, babe?” Yaz murmurs into her hair, nosing through it while time slows and drags around her. The scent of her papaya shampoo and the distinct coconut tinge mixed in with suncream are heightened in her state of intoxication, and Yaz can’t help but close her eyes as she breathes her in afresh. 

“No.” Dennie shakes her head, eyeing the nearest pine as though if she blinks it may launch its attack. 

“Dennie, psst.” Yaz prompts five minutes later — or is it an hour? She can’t tell. Time feels funny. “Look up.”

In a break in the clouds, the night sky is unsheathed overhead. Stars kiss the tops of the tallest trees and instantly, even while inebriated, the body against hers slackens and relaxes. “They’re all moving, Yaz. Can you see them moving?”

If she blinks, swirls like tailwinds curl and weave around the faraway specks of gold and silver and Dennie’s laugh makes them move faster. “I can, yeah. D’you know the names?”

“That’s venus, beside the moon. The orangy one,” Dennie points out, raising a hand which multiplies when it moves as though a series of stills on an old film roll. It’s just her luck that her brain turns into an old cinema while she’s high as a kite. “Then there’s mars, just to the left. It’s redder and — did you see that? A shooting star!”

“I saw it,” Yaz insists, words slightly slurred and disconnected from her hearing. In her chest, then in her ears, her heart races with adrenaline. “Do you think they can see us from up there?”

“Who?”

“The stars,” Yaz answers, watching a bat flit between trees above and distort the Van Gogh painting come to life in the sky. “Do you think they know who we are?”

“I hope so,” Dennie sighs, wetting her lips. Yaz’s mouth feels dry, too. Perhaps she might need to help. 

“Dennie?” 

“Yeah?” the blonde says to the stars. 

Yaz tilts her head back down, neck protesting, and cups her girlfriend’s jaw until she complies, too. “Let’s give them a show.” 

When she closes the gap and seeks out the desert of Dennie’s mouth with her tongue, the blonde moulds against her with a hum loud enough for Bill to groan from nearby. She doesn’t care, not when something soft hits her chair nor when Bill starts gagging dramatically — not even when she runs out of oxygen. 

When she pulls back, cheeks warm and stomach and lungs burning, Dennie’s eyes are still closed. She leans in just as they blink open, but she’s too busy smiling to concentrate on the kiss she presses against parted, willing lips. 

Every swipe of her tongue, every nestle of noses in alignment and every hum of approval is intensified into a siren’s call, and suddenly Yaz believes the myths of those jumping into cold oceans just to seek more. She wants more, she _needs_ more, and it’s not until Dennie squeaks against her lips, gaze turned away, that she can drag herself away from the freezing hot depths and breach the surface again. 

“Look,” Dennie whispers conspiratorially through swollen lips, eyeing a fox as it toes near the edge of the woodland in the light of their still-burning fire. Its rusty coat matches that of the flames and for a moment, Yaz could swear it meets their eyes and whispers something in the faint breeze. 

“You done on your safari, ladies?” 

“Piss off, Potts.” 

  
  


There are pins and needles in her feet and Dennie has almost fallen asleep against her shoulder when Yaz next registers the passing of time. 

Through the lick of flames, she spots two shadows moulded together in a tender embrace and with a gentle whisper, Dennie looks over in question. 

With a trembling hand set upon Rose’s cheek, Bill initiates their first kiss with no lack of zest. 

Against her, Dennie tilts her head back and Yaz drops her gaze to her darkened, sleepy eyes, delivering them both the privacy they need. 

* * *

A case of the munchies draws Dennie to their tent with a packet of bourbons and a bottle of water. In time with the sun meeting the horizon, Yaz dampens her dry mouth through traded sips and sobering kisses before dragging the blonde between open sleeping bags and moulding against her form. 

By the time slumber seeps away to be replaced by foggy recollection, Yaz refuses to draw herself away from the mess of blonde hair nestled against her chest and the thigh curled lazily over her hip. Dennie clings to her like a koala, snuffling a grumble into her ear if she so dares as to flex her numb fingers against her lower back. 

There are biscuit crumbs in her hair and the creases of Dennie’s hoodie and she thinks her breath might smell with the dryness of her throat but, when she hears the tent beside them stir with giddy giggles and Dennie’s tired eyes flicker open, she can’t find it in herself to care. 

“Go back to sleep,” she whispers if only to feel the body cast against hers sag with the weight of unfulfilled dormancy. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.” 

“Always?” a voice croaks against her collarbone, and her chest aches in succession. 

Yaz coils her arm tighter and falls a little harder. “Always.” 


	6. the video

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone's doing okay! 
> 
> there's some smut in this one just to warn those who aren't interested!!! 
> 
> also this has not been proofread so any mistakes pls dont tell me unless they're major or ill probably cry x
> 
> stay safe guys x
> 
> TW: anxiety/anxiety attack/discussions of sexuality

Another week passes by and still, whenever Yaz sets up her camera and starts recording, her revelation clogs up her throat and drives her to the bathroom rather than into the open arms of their online community. 

She’s woken by anxiety and resounding guilt each morning and usually waits until her counterpart has stirred before seeking comfort in her taste and the feel of her. 

Today, however, she’s successfully distracted from her spiralling thoughts when a whimpered moan melts against her shoulder and Dennie moulds closer to the length of her side. 

When Yaz tilts her head to seek her out, she finds Dennie’s brows pinched and lips parted as though to cry out, and assumes a nightmare is what’s making her shiver and squirm. It might be the recurring dream about the alien with spaghetti for teeth plaguing her mind, or even the tin man her girlfriend had once recalled. 

She’s ready to coax her from her sleep when Dennie curls a leg around her thigh and a distinct, burning heat meets her bare skin through her girlfriend’s thin pyjama shorts. 

_ Oh _ . 

A sigh falls past Dennie’s lips and Yaz flushes, heat surging to the pit of her stomach at the realisation. 

“Dennie?” she whispers a minute later, effectively pinned by the blonde’s trembling hips. 

Another handful of murmurs of her name later, Dennie blinks up at her through eyes foggy with sleep and arousal and blushes unceremoniously when she slips back to reality. 

“Morning,” Yaz hums, dropping a kiss to the confused wrinkle between her brows and smiling when Dennie leans into it with a groggy purr. She combs her fingers through her sleep-mussed hair and then glides her hand down her back to her hip. “You okay? You seemed pretty immersed in that dream, babe.” 

“Mm,” Dennie slumps back against her chest again, pressing her nose to her throat while her thigh tenses around Yaz’s own. “It was a good one.”

Yaz’s smile turns smug and she slips her hand beneath the hem of her top to span her hip. She’s like a human radiator beneath her touch and she shifts when Yaz squeezes. “You don’t say.”

Dennie’s head lifts from her favourite spot to nestle into and she looks the epitome of a child caught with her hand in the biscuit tin. “Hm?”

Yaz can only lick her lips and swallow heavily, gaze flickering pointedly to the thigh wrapped around her own. If she’d been wearing grey, Yaz thinks her clear excitement might be far more obvious. The image forces another spark down her spine. “You’re not subtle, babe.”

Instantly, Dennie glances between them and burns bright pink with embarrassment, prompting her to untangle herself and move to sit up. “I should — I should probably take a shower.” 

“You don’t have to.” Yaz reaches out, catching a wayward hand. She flutters her lashes in the hope her girlfriend gets the gist of what she’s saying. “Not right now, anyway.”

Unfortunately, Dennie has never been the most intuitive. “Wh— I’m — what?”

Yaz draws her closer and leans in for a kiss which Dennie treats with zest, sighing into her mouth as though released from restraints. “Come here.”

She doesn’t stop exploring her mouth until Yaz is sat up with her back against the headboard and Dennie has settled in her lap, knees nudging her hips. 

“Do you want to…” Yaz presses a kiss to the corner of her lips then ducks her head to her throat while seeking her glossy eyes out for the same trail of thought. 

In answer, Dennie reaches for Yaz’s hand and boldly lifts it to her chest while her own dips down to the waistband of her boxer shorts. 

Yaz leans back to observe the show, her thumb catching the rise of a nipple over the fabric of her creased yellow t-shirt at the same time as Dennie sucks in a sharp inhale. 

She has her well trained. 

“Yaz, tell me,” Dennie whispers, eyes half-lidded and hand poised just below the material. “Please.” 

“Good, babe. You can touch,” Yaz murmurs with a smirk, capturing a hardening bud between thumb and forefinger and sighing when Dennie keens. 

She plants her mouth against her throat while Dennie grants herself the attention she’s aching for, closing her lips around her flitting pulse and letting her tongue work the sensitive surface until she spots goosebumps rising in the surrounding skin. 

“More,” Dennie rasps in response to Yaz’s light sucks and whispering pressure. 

Yaz pauses to meet her gaze, catching hooded pupils and fluttering lashes. She’s stopped herself from marking her with reddened skin up to this point due to the consistency of filming and Dennie’s central part in each video. 

Dennie nods and the slick sound of her fingers finding their goal beneath her shorts only spurs Yaz on. “Please.”

And really — who is she to deny her when she sounds like that?

Relocating to her pulse, Yaz flicks a thumb over a swollen bud at the same time as she sinks her teeth into her flesh and sucks. Dennie arches with a whimpered moan, hips squirming in her lap as she speeds up the hand buried between her thighs. 

She’s glorious like this, Yaz thinks, flushed and determined but continuously surprised by the ways in which her body reacts to each new sensation.

Breaking Yaz out of her reverie, she hears Dennie pause just above. “Aren’t you going to —” 

“This is about you, babe. I just want to see you,” Yaz sighs, spelling the words out against her skin to soothe the mark she’s left in her wake. A twinge of possessiveness awakens in her gut and she seeks out to find another place to lavish with teeth and tongue. 

The jut of her collarbone is her next victim, and with a barely stifled groan, Dennie slides her free hand through Yaz’s hair to desperately hold her in place. “ _ God _ , Yaz.” 

“You like that?” Yaz purrs, grazing her teeth over the prominent curve and feeling the way Dennie trembles in her lap. 

“Yes. Definitely. Lots. Y’can one definitely do that again,” Dennie rambles, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth. Her breath catches again when Yaz skirts her hand along the hem of her t-shirt, lifting upwards in silent question. 

Dennie has to slip her hand from her boxer shorts to raise her arms, but as soon as it returns, Yaz leans in to capture a hardened nipple between her lips and flick her tongue over the sensitive nub. 

Yaz lets her girlfriend guide her in that respect, mouthing at her breast in hot, open kisses which have her squirming before she sucks at the pebbled flesh with renewed enthusiasm. Alternating between teeth and tongue, she has Dennie like putty in her hands in no time at all. 

She’s spelling out a continuous train of three words against and around her when Dennie grips at her thigh for leverage, hard enough for half-crescents to appear. Yaz isn’t surprised to find she likes the sting and the throb which follows. “Close already, babe?”

Dennie mumbles something incoherent under her breath and pitches forward, the muscles of her forearm working as tirelessly as the hand between her legs. “It was a  _ really _ good dream,” she rasps out, dropping her forehead to her shoulder and panting out short, sharp breaths while she sets herself up for her freefall. 

Yaz wets her lips, pulling back to palm at her neglected breast while her kisses trail back up her patchwork throat. “What happened in it, Dennie?”

She can feel the way Dennie’s cheeks flood with warmth through the material of her t-shirt, and with a faint gasp as her thumb no-doubt finds her clit and doubles her efforts, the blonde confesses. “I were —  _ ah _ — I were taking a shower and —” Dennie lightens her touch, unwilling to fall too soon, but gives in again when a flash of her dream returns to her. “And you came in and we —” 

“How, babe?” Yaz prompts, wetting her lips. Momentarily, she wishes she’d joined in, but for now Dennie is her main priority. “How did we do it?”

A broken moan reassures Yaz that her plan of attack is working and she smirks against her neck before tilting her head up to catch her earlobe between her teeth. “You had me up against — against the wall and you —  _ fuck _ , Yaz,” Dennie groans when a clipped nail catches her nipple and repeats the motion until it hardens tenfold. “You were on your knees, Yaz. And you were — you had your mouth on me.” 

For someone who just a few months ago would blush at the mention of a kiss, Dennie comes out on top of her admission with an understandable sense of victory. 

“Are you picturing it now, Dennie?” Yaz pries, peeling her mouth away to jot kisses along her slackened jaw to the corner of her gasping lips. When Dennie doesn’t seem to have the presence of mind nor words to respond, simply nodding and moaning, Yaz cocks her head to the side and meets her heady gaze with a smirk. “I’d love to taste you one day.”

“ _ Fuck _ , fuck, fuck.  _ Yaz _ .” She’s hanging from the edge of a cliff with only Yaz as her witness, and the latter does not offer a helping hand. 

Instead, she kisses her, plunging her tongue past her lips and stealing her moans for her own private collection. She cages her bottom lip between her teeth when Dennie’s moans heighten in pitch and her thighs ache with the pressure of the rolling hips atop. 

She can tell when she’s about to catapult off the edge by the way she stiffens against her, all sensations directed to the slippery, obscenely slick fingers working between her legs. “I bet you taste amazing.”

“ _ Yaz _ , oh my  _ God _ .”

“Come on, baby. I’ve got you. You’re doing amazing. Let go.” 

“Ah — fuck, hold me.  _ Yaz _ , hold me, please,” Dennie begs under her breath, crashing back into her mouth only a second later to muffle the way she cries her name on repeat. 

Swallowing her moans and cinching her arms around her, she embraces her through every last quiver and every last gasp of gibberish from her mouth until she slackens and sags against her.

When she raises her head, hair mussed and sticking to her face where sweat clings to her skin, she looks ruddy and pink and adorable and Yaz has to bite down on her tongue to keep herself confessing all. 

“That good, huh?” she settles on instead, smoothing a hand up and down her spine and shuffling back so Dennie can coil around her again. 

“Just keeps getting better,” Dennie mumbles against her, shivering as another pulse of electricity nicks at her nerves. 

Yaz lets her rest, tapping out a rhythm in twos until she slackens and sighs against her shoulder. “Psst, babe, don’t fall asleep. Bill’s here in an hour.”

“Shh,” Dennie grumbles, hold tightening around her waist in protest. 

“Dennie,” Yaz whispers in a sing-song tone, sweeping an arm around the backs of her thighs. “Dennie, I won’t hesitate to pick you up and deposit you in the shower.”

“You think I smell?”

Yaz arches a brow and pats her thigh. “Yep.” 

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Bill — don’t you dare.  _ Yaz!  _ Put me down right now!”

“I warned you.” 

“... Why’ve you gone quiet?”

“Have I told you you’re really in shape, Yaz?” 

“Not today, babe.” 

“You're really in shape, Yaz.”

"And you still smell. Have a nice shower, babe."

* * *

Four raps against the door announce Bill’s arrival at Dennie’s apartment and with a barely concealed snort, the blonde calls out to her. “Door’s open. Come on in!”

The handle twists and the door clicks open but Bill’s eyes are on her phone when she steps into the threshold. 

Right into a band of clear cling film while Dennie records on her mobile. 

“Prick,” Bill groans as she rips the material from the doorframe. She bunches it up into a ball and tosses it Dennie’s way, but she’s too slow for the blonde’s dodging feet. 

“Good morning to you too, Bill.” 

“ _ Good _ and  _ morning _ don’t belong in the same sentence, mate.” Bill navigates her way through like she’s at home, clicking on the coffee machine in the kitchen and grabbing herself a mug. “Can you take your bright personality to a different room until I’ve had a coffee?” 

“This is  _ my _ apartment — I  _ invited  _ you around — okay, fine. Just drink all my coffee and help yourself to breakfast, why don’t you.”

“Aw. Thanks, Dennie.” Bill pours out the last handful of Dennie’s favourite sugary cereal and watches her expression fall when she adds milk and digs in. “You’re so generous.” 

From her place on the couch, halfway through editing a video, Yaz rolls her eyes and blows out her cheeks in exasperation. “Bill, stop messing with her.” 

“Yaz, she’s eating the last of my cookie crisp,” Dennie whines, going so far as to stomp her foot before she scoops a custard cream from her biscuit jar and bites down miserably.

Yaz watches the scene unfold with a pitying smile toward her girlfriend and a faint glare aimed at Bill. “I’ll grab you some more once I’ve finished this, okay?” 

Somewhat reassured, Dennie fetches a mug for herself and eyes Bill in silent accusation while she makes up two helpings of coffee. In retort, Bill grins and takes another noisy spoonful. 

“At least break some custard creams into it,” Dennie mumbles under her breath, scrunching her nose in distaste. 

Bill’s brows furrow and she glances to Yaz; who simply shakes her head in a  _ don’t comment on it _ fashion. 

“Nice turtleneck, by the way, Dennie,” Bill notes ten minutes later around her last mouthful, coaxing a rouge tint to Dennie’s cheeks and a faint smirk from her girlfriend. “Very subtle.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

_ @idiotsroamingofficial 22 June 2020 [2:13 PM] _

**_NEW UPLOAD: CONSPIRACY PODCAST WITH DENNIE AND BILL_ **

The office-turned-podcast-room is a green affair with two large swivel chairs and a desk upon which Dennie’s sticker-drowned laptop sits. Yaz adjusts the tripod and the lens on her camera to get them both equally within the frame before settling into the comfy couch opposite with her own laptop. 

Scooping up her acoustic guitar from beneath her desk, Dennie strums lazily at the chords before the camera starts to roll. 

Yaz is too focused following the muscles working in her girlfriend’s hands to notice the knowing smirk Bill sends her way. 

Dennie plays their intro with practised ease, pulling the strings to a rhythm of four beats while Bill whips out a mouth organ for the accompanying three-note tune. It’s not quite in sync, but there’s hardly ever a time where Bill and Dennie are present in the same field of existence together anyway. 

From across the room, Yaz hums the familiar  _ doo wee ooh _ jingle under her breath and, within minutes, resigns herself to listening in on their podcast rather than focusing on the work in front of her. 

“Hiya, guys. S’up?” Dennie starts, hands raised with two enthusiastic thumbs up. 

At her side, Bill cringes, readjusting the headphones over her mass of curls. “Don’t — don’t do that, mate.”

“Don’t do what?” 

“The whole — y’know —  _ s’up _ ?”

“Nothing much, you?” 

“Oh my  _ God _ .”

“Gotcha.”

* * *

“Shoutout to the user  _ Yasmin Khans,  _ spelt with an x instead of the last a, by the way. Very creative. Ten out of ten. Name sounds familiar, too.”

Yaz glances up from her screen, sending Dennie a glare. “Shut up.”

“Did y’hear something, Bill?”

“Must be the demon that lives in your flat, mate.” 

“For the  _ last time _ , there isn’t a demon in my flat.”

“So who’s that behind you on the camera?” 

“Wait — what the  _ f— _ whathehellisthat!” 

Through laughter which almost sends her chair tumbling backwards, Bill rasps, “It’s a green screen, you idiot.” 

* * *

“Okay, what’s the first conspiracy, Dennie?”

“So, I’ve seen  _ loads _ of stuff about this online and it’s been documented in videos and documentaries for  _ years _ ; and it’s the theory that mirrors are actually portals to a parallel universe.”

“Right —” 

“Or Norway. There’s — um — there’s a lot about that, too.” 

“Norway?”

“Yeah, Norway.” 

“S’that because you love Scandinavia or did you actually read about it, babes?”

“It’s a — it’s a personal opinion.” 

“Thought it might be. So, parallel universes…” 

* * *

“There’s another theory that statues are only statues when you’re looking at them.” 

“Going to need a bit more detail there, Dennie.”

“Basically, unless you’re looking at them, they’re free to move around and do as they please.” 

“Okay.”

“But you can’t look into their eyes.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause you’ll be sent back in time, obviously.” 

“ _ Obviously.” _

“It’s true. Apparently, in an abandoned manor in England back in 2007, a woman was zapped back in time after scoping the place out with her friend.” 

“Sure she didn’t just really hate them and want a way out?” 

“Bill, I’m serious.” 

“Alright. How’d she know she was sent back in time? Where’s the evidence?” 

“Some bloke turned up five minutes later and told the other woman that he were her mate’s son and she’d died of old age a day before.” 

“Whoa.”

“Right? Told you.” 

“No. I just saw the woman’s picture. She’s pretty fit.” 

“ _ Bill _ .” 

* * *

“Dennie, you are  _ not _ trying to tell me that spaceships are all around us but hidden in disguise.”

“Why not?”

“Uh — ‘cause that’s  _ creepy? _ ”

“Aw, are you creeped out?” 

“Don’t get cocky, mate.” 

“Your flat could be an alien spaceship and you wouldn’t even know.”

“It would make more sense if it were  _ your  _ place, Dennie.”

“Wh—” 

“Oh my  _ god _ . You’re an alien. That explains so much.” 

“ _ Excuse me?” _

“You eat the weirdest foods, you’ve the brain cells of an undeveloped fetus and most of the time it feels like you’re talking in a whole different language.” 

“Bill —” 

“Are you wearing a skin suit? Are you all green and slimy under that? Is this all a big reveal?”

“ _ Bill, leave her alone.”  _

“I am  _ not _ an alien.”

“What planet are you from? Do they all look like you?” 

_ “Bill _ .”

* * *

“... So, they are actually lizards. They’re just hiding in human form —” 

“Hey, Dennie.”

“Yeah?”

“Dare you to box-jump the desk.”

_ “Dennie, don’t you dare.”  _

“How much would you pay me?”

“ _ Pay  _ you _? _ Mate, I just want to see you fail.”

“How much?”

“Fine. A tenner.”

“Twenty and I’ll do it.” 

“Twelve _. _ ”

“Thirteen.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

“ _ Dennie, seriously, you’re going to break something.”  _

“Go on, mate. Yaz, look away.” 

“Count me down?”

“Five, four, three, two… one.”

A flurry of limbs and a determined leap later lands Dennie on the top of the desk, knees bent but feet steady. There’s gleeful shock written all over her face. “ _ Whoa.” _

Bill blinks, jaw slack. “What?”

“Ha! You owe me thirteen quid.”

Unravelling the tension in her shoulders and peeling her hands away from her eyes, Yaz relaxes with an impressed smirk which makes Dennie fidget and blush when she settles back down. 

She doesn’t miss Bill’s poorly concealed curse as she slides a handful of coins Dennie’s way. 

* * *

“If you were a ghost, how would you haunt people?” 

“You know those people who — uh —  _ mimes! _ Mimes. I think I’d give them a helping hand. Make it a bit more realistic, you know? They’d probably get a standing ovation and maybe some more money. Oh! And I could just pet dogs all day. That would be ace. What about you?”

“I think I’d just raid people’s houses and eat their food — maybe draw some boobs on their mirrors or something, too. Remember that girl on the rounders team who had that really annoying laugh and used to pick on you? Missy, I think? I’d probably dye her hair while she slept, shave her eyebrows off — the works.”

“Bill, that’s  _ mean _ .”

“I’d do it in a nice way? Give her a kiss on the forehead before I left?” 

* * *

“Any more conspiracies to share, Den?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a brilliant one.”

“Go for it.”

“So, the moon, right?”

“Right.”

“It’s an egg.” 

“Okay, that’s enough for today. Thanks for joining, guys! See you next week!” 

“Wait — there’s a whole thing, Bill. It’s a huge dragon —” 

“Dennie says bye too!”

* * *

“Three hours, guys? I’m going to have to work on this all day tomorrow,” Yaz puffs out her cheeks, only half-serious as she twists the camera free from its tripod and ejects the memory card to slide into her laptop instead. “Good work, though. And thanks for not wrestling this time.”

“Thanks, mum,” Bill drawls with a smirk, uncapping her water bottle to take a sip. She nudges Dennie’s elbow when she continues to pout, kicking her legs up on the desk and leaning back in her chair. “So what’s the moon thing about?”

“Thought you didn’t want to hear it.” Dennie swings a leg over the side of her seat and kicks Bill’s away an inch, mindful of Yaz when she pads over to perch on the edge of the desk in front of her. “But, basically, it’s a giant egg that cracks every millennium and sprouts another straight afterwards. The tides are altered for a couple of weeks but then everything goes back to normal.”

Bill steadies herself instinctively, repositioning her feet upon the desk. “Right, and who came up with that?”

“John,” Dennie states matter of factly, rolling her chair forward to stop in place just before Yaz. 

Yaz can’t help but reach between them to run her fingers through freshly washed hair, catching the way Dennie’s features relax. It also helps to hide the way her fingers tremble with apprehension. 

Bill shakes her head. “Of course they did.”

“They’re a physicist, Bill. They know what they’re talking about.”

“I think they’re having you on, mate.”

“Why would they — oh, for God’s sake. Did they make all that up?”

“Sorry, Dennie, but it seems like it,” Yaz chips in, dropping her hand to her lap when Dennie slumps back in her chair with a huff. With nothing to do with them, Yaz tucks them into the pockets of her jeans.

“Guess it’s still just made of cheese, then.” Dennie shrugs, earning a pair of squinting, questioning glares in her direction. 

* * *

“I really should be off, guys,” Bill notes near lunchtime, checking the time on her phone and rocking on her toes in readiness. “Got a meeting to get to.”

“Didn’t know  _ meeting  _ now means sticking your tongue down Rose’s throat.” 

“Ew, Dennie. That’s gross,” Bill gripes before giving in to a smirk and a wink. “It’s not just her throat.” 

“Oh my  _ God _ , get out,” Dennie groans at the same time as Yaz stifles laughter behind her palm. 

After shrugging her bag on, Bill raises her free arm to swing around Yaz’s shoulders in a hug. “Good luck with the video, mate. I can drop by afterwards, if you want?” 

The reminder causes the shoulders beneath her embrace to stiffen again, but Yaz maintains her composure with a swift nod and a tight smile. She curls an arm around her waist and squeezes before pulling back. “It should be fine, honestly. Tell Rose I said hi.” 

“Well, the offer is still there if you need it, okay?” Bill insists as she steps back, offering Dennie a nudge to the arm in favour of a hug. “You better take care of her, mate.” 

“Oi,” Dennie bristles playfully, resigning herself to her fate when Bill ruffles her hair in turn. “Of course I will.” She blows a lock of hair from her eyes and lifts her brows. “Hope you’re not stood up because Rose has finally had enough of how bad you smell.” 

“Prick.” 

“Love you too, Potts.”

“ _ Guys _ . Can’t you go  _ five minutes _ without acting like teenage boys?” 

“Nah, mate. See you later!”

* * *

“Nervous?” Dennie quips, halfway through making the most thickly layered jam on toast she’s ever seen. When she plops another piece on top to make an oozing sandwich, Yaz can predict the stream of red from her lips before she even takes a bite. 

“Nope,” she lies, chasing a tomato around the bowl holding her salad. 

Through her second messy bite, Dennie nudges her foot alongside Yaz’s under the table and lets her expression soften. “ _ Yaz.”  _

“It’s fine, it’s not like I’m coming out for the first time. You guys know. That’s what’s most important,” Yaz states, sitting her fork down and leaning back in her chair when her stomach protests. 

“Right,” Dennie agrees. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve barely touched your food.”

“‘Course. And I’m just not that hungry.” She nods assertively, slipping from her chair and brushing a hand over Dennie’s shoulder on the way to the sink. After washing up, she turns, motioning over her shoulder. “I think I’m going to make a start on editing the podcast.”

“Need any help?”

“Nah, you’re alright.”

The way Dennie’s face falls drags her from her distracted state and she lingers in the doorway to her sound-proofed room, still decked out with podcast equipment. “I wouldn’t mind your company, though, if you can entertain yourself.”

“Oh, brilliant.” Dennie hops down from her seat, plate in hand, and follows her inside like a schoolchild granted entrance to an otherwise forbidden area. It’s Dennie’s flat, but with Yaz there, it seems she’s all the more excited to enter each room and see how she makes it her own.

* * *

Working, it seems, is not as helpful a distraction as she’d thought.

With every clip shortened and every transition smoothed out and every note of music added comes the reminder of the video she’s hoping to finish later in the day. 

Each time she checks her phone and finds herself notified by a dozen messages of admiration and hope and affection on her social media another surge of guilt makes her chest ache and her thoughts scatter like blossom petals in the wind. Accept she’s not bloomed yet, and it’s that which seems so impossible. 

Perhaps she’s left it too long. 

Perhaps their family; their support group and their entertainment in the form of an online community will curse her for dragging this out; for not revealing all right away; for being scared of doing something others have had to sacrifice in favour of divulging. 

Perhaps she’s thinking too much. 

Dennie has her head buried in a file when Yaz glances up from her screen and swallows around a lump as solid as stone in her throat. “Be right back.”

She doesn’t think Dennie responds as she sets her laptop aside and migrates towards the restroom — or at least she doesn’t register it. 

The edge of the bath is cool and she curls her palms around it to ground herself while she fights off a wave of nausea, thigh jumping and heel tapping with every half a breath. 

She’d call out; she’d give in and find some comfort if only her lungs didn’t start protesting right after. 

Fingers splayed, she taps out a beat of four and tries not to let heavy breaths echo in the spacious room. Curse this room. She should’ve headed for the guest bedroom, tucked away and far enough not to let its interior spill past the door frame. 

A shaking hand reaches for the tap and turns sharply while she keeps count under her breath. Another flood of nausea and a mouthful of bile halt her progress. 

Inhale on four, exhale on eight. 

Inhale on four, exhale on eight. 

She doesn’t remember letting go of the edge of the bath, nor sliding down its side, but suddenly she’s sitting, knees drawn to her chest and breaths falling between them. Distantly, she hones in on a pair of footsteps. 

By the time Dennie has entered the room, Yaz’s breathing is back under control but her stomach continues to lurch in pulses towards the back of her throat. She swallows heavily and glances up from her the porcelain rim of the toilet seat to meet concerned hazel. 

“ _ Yaz _ ,” Dennie sighs, crouching before her but restraining the urge to reach out. 

When Yaz nods imperceptibly, Dennie loses her battle to keep a safe distance and reaches out to rub sympathetically at the base of her spine. 

Blowing out her cheeks in a faint sigh, Dennie peels her hair from her face and bunches it in her free hand to keep it from falling forward. “I wish you’d stop being so stubborn and tell me when you’re getting like this.” 

“It’s only been today,” Yaz answers in earnest, trembling fingers curling around the seat. 

Somewhat reassured, Dennie lifts her hand to press the back of it to her forehead. It comes away warm and Yaz misses the contact immediately. “Okay. Just — just focus on my hand, alright? Don’t think about anything else.” 

It’s not a hard task, unsurprisingly, when Dennie’s palm comes to rest against her back again, this time under the material of her shirt. 

She draws circles and waves and undecipherable words along the space just above her waistband and Yaz leans back into the motions, forehead coming to rest against her folded arms atop the rim of the seat. She tunes in on the slender length of her fingers and imagines the tendons working in the back of her hand like she’s studied them for centuries. 

She probably would, given the chance. 

In time, Yaz unfurls in a slow influx of relaxing muscles and quelling anxieties, and Dennie is patient in its approach. 

Not  _ okay _ , but — “Better?”

“Better,” Yaz sighs, welcoming the gentle manoeuvre of her form until Dennie’s chest is where her head finds home. 

“You don’t have to do it, you know? We can just carry on like normal and if they pick up on it, then they pick up on it. It doesn’t have to be a big announcement,” Dennie murmurs another minute later, words catching in the hair she nestles against. “That counts for your family, too.”

Burying her head in the dip of her neck and shoulder, Yaz breathes her in and lets the scent of coffee and sugary sweetness envelop her in an embrace of its own. “I want to do it, Dennie. I can’t just sit back and make them think I’m embarrassed or scared to come out — what kind of person would that make me? What kind of  _ role model _ ?”

“Your welfare comes first, Yaz,” Dennie argues gently, threading her fingers through thick tresses. “And I’m sure anyone who cares about you even half as much as I do would agree with that.” 

“I’ve got to do it, Dennie. I want to,” Yaz muffles against her top, pulling back to rub her eyes. “And if I don’t do it today, I’ll just keep putting it off. I know I will.”

“And I’ll support you, either way,” Dennie implores, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and curling her arms that much tighter. “And I really do think Najia and Hakim will be fine, Yaz. Remember last time we went to see them — and Najia asked if we were seeing each other? I really doubt she would’ve said that if she didn’t support it. That wouldn’t make any sense.” 

With a quiet, teary scoff, Yaz lifts her head, coming off a little stronger; a little more determined. “I mean — I have mentioned it to them, just to test the waters — but do you really think so?”

“Of course.” A thumb catches a pool of moisture dampening her cheek and Dennie smiles, every inch the tender soul she’d met all those years ago. Yaz is surprised to find a glistening sheen to her girlfriend’s pupils, too. “And if I’m wrong, which is frankly pretty rare, then you always have a place with me. With all of us. For as long as you need.” 

* * *

_ @idiotsroamingofficial 22 June 2020 [7:00PM]  _ _NEW UPLOAD: A MESSAGE FROM YAZ (PREMIERING AT 7:30PM GMT @YOUTUBE) Stay tuned guys! - D_

* * *

Adjusting the angle of the camera so she doesn’t cut Yaz’s head off at the neck, Dennie straightens up with her hands on her hips. “How do you want to do this?” 

“I’ll do an intro, then I was thinking of using the short film I made last year — the one I did all those interviews on the streets for?” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s brilliant,” Dennie encourages, watching Yaz slip her hands under her thighs to keep them from fidgeting. “I don’t think I ever got to see it.”

Yaz tilts her head, gaze flitting from the intimidating lens to her girlfriend. She’s not used to being on this side of the camera, and at a time like this, she’s reminded just how much she dislikes it. It’s a wonder Dennie has so much confidence. “You didn’t?” 

“You said you didn’t think it was your best work, so I didn’t push.” Dennie leans against the counter behind her, having set the camera up in the living room before the couch. It’s different to their usual videos, so it calls for a more intimate space, especially given the topic. “Think you were being too harsh on yourself, though, as usual.”

Yaz scoffs, taking a steadying inhale and counting silently under her breath before another wave of panic can hit.

Dennie clears her throat to capture her attention, then offers a double thumbs up. “You’ve got this in the bag, babe.” 

Yaz’s gaze doesn’t stray from her girlfriend, taking courage from the infectious smile on her face and the unabashed pride clinging to its every feature. “I think I’m ready.”

  
  


* * *

Another hour and a round of expert editing later, Yaz worries her lip as she heads through to Dennie’s bedroom. She finds her on her bedroom floor —  _ thankfully _ — stretching her leg like her physio had asked, but she stops the moment Yaz pads in. 

Settling on the edge of the bed, Yaz balances her laptop on her knees and wets her lips, taking in her girlfriend’s dishevelled form. “I think it’s finished. The video — it’s done.” Then, quieter, “Would you be okay to watch it through with me?”

“Of course,” Dennie hauls herself up with a grunt and drops down on the bed beside her, an arm reflexively slinking around her waist. She pops her chin over her shoulder and takes a breath when the video begins to play. She doesn’t release it until the short film is fluidly underway and Yaz has nestled closer. 

It might just be the longest twenty minutes of Yaz’s life. 

What starts off with Yaz’s profile on the camera and a simple “My name is Yasmin Khan, and I’m bisexual” triggers a series of clips in which queer Muslim women make the same proud statement and detail their experiences.

By the time the short credit sequence has begun, Dennie’s jaw is slack and her bottom lip has begun to tremble in a telling fashion. “ _ Yaz _ .”

“Is it okay?” 

“This is amazing. You’re amazing.” She shakes her head, openly impressed, and sniffs back a well of emotion which triggers Yaz’s chest to ache with something indecipherable. “Are you ready?” 

“Could we do it together?”

While moving the mouse takes some direction, Yaz meets Dennie’s gaze in nervous anticipation when finally,  _ finally _ , the upload button is engaged.

“Wow,” Yaz breathes, leaning into the hug Dennie offers and closing her laptop. She turns to face her at the same time as Dennie leans in and, nose to nose, they grin. “Now for the apocalypse, I guess.” 

“Everything’s going to be fine, Yaz,” Dennie urges, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. 

Yaz sighs through her nose, shifting to better sling her arms around her waist. “Famous last words.”

“Oh, shut up.” Dennie cups her cheek and kisses the space between her brows. When she pulls back, she bites down on her bottom lip as if to hold back a whole speech. “I’m really proud of you, Yasmin.”

Wincing when her phone begins chiming with notifications, Yaz buries her face against her shoulder and allows Dennie to coil around her. “Thanks, babe.”

* * *

_ @YazKhans 22 June 2020 [7:30PM]: my name is yasmin khan and I am bisexual  _ _ https://youtu.be/Vkzgu13jsLAs _ __

_ @YazKhans @pottsbill: love u mate <3 _

_ @YazKhans @denniesmithofficial: <3 <3 <3 you’re brilliant _

_ @YazKhans @tylersofficial: proud of you yaz <3 _

_ @denniestan: well sis SNAPPED today wtf bisexual icon yasmin khan thank you for my rights _

_ @gaysroxming: I LOVE YOU @YazKhans _

_ @yasminkhxns: suddenly my skin is clear my grades are good my crops are growing the sun is out i have 20/20 vision yasmin khan please step on my throat  _

_ @billpottsmells: wait does this mean they’re together? are dennie and yaz ACTUALLY gfs???? _

_ @billpottsmells @denniestan: o h wait hold on a minute _

_ @BuzzFeed 22 June 2020 [8:00PM] Online Influencer and Videographer Yasmin Khan Comes Out as Bisexual — So Is She Dating Best Friend Dennie Smith After All?  _ _ https://www.buzzfeed.com/janearmson90/yasmin-khan-bisexual?ref=hpsplash _ __

* * *

“Yaz.”

Hands clasped together and resting against her lips in silent prayer, Yaz follows the length of Dennie’s open kitchen and back again, gaze set unwaveringly on her moving feet. 

It’s been fifteen minutes since she pressed the  _ upload _ button and bared herself to the unknown, and every second; every minute passes like a trifling year. 

“ _ Yaz _ .”

When she lifts her gaze to seek out the source of the concerned tone, Yaz finds her girlfriend perched on the edge of her couch, watching her repetitive motions with a sympathetic frown. “You’re going to burn a hole through to the flat below if you keep going.” 

“Sorry,” Yaz says through a wince, but doesn’t pause in her journey. 

Gentle hands halt her when she passes by the sofa, capturing her wrist in a hold she’s easily able to retract away from. “Yaz, stop. Please.” 

Again, Yaz swallows around a lump in her throat, words coming up short. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Dennie starts when her phone pings with a message, taking a brief peek at the screen. 

Yaz stiffens with a sharp inhale and it must show because the next minute Dennie has silenced the device and cast it aside carelessly. Dennie stands with a hand still curled gently around her own. 

“Come here,” she prompts, alleviating her hold if only to open her arms in invitation. 

With a sigh through her nose and the task of quelling the way her fingers tremble, Yaz sinks into her girlfriend’s hug. Sure arms curl around her neck and shoulders and suddenly all her senses hone in on Dennie and Dennie only. 

When cool fingers slip up into her hair to card through and massage at the base of her skull, Yaz can’t help but sag against her in distracted bliss. “Thank you,” Yaz sighs, fingers bunching in the material of her girlfriend’s weathered Biffy Clyro t-shirt. 

“No need to thank me” Dennie implores with a shrug, lips pressed against her hairline. “D’you think you’d be up for taking a walk and leaving our phones behind?” 

Anxiety waning, Yaz nods, but is reluctant to pull away. “Five more minutes?” 

“No complaints there.” Dennie draws her closer in an instant, all sugary coffee and strawberry jam with an innate ability to calm her nerves from thunderous waves to gentle ebbs and flows. If Yaz is the ocean tide, Dennie is the monitoring moon. 

* * *

The park Dennie’s apartment complex shadows is quiet this time of night, and as they weave between the trees along their familiar route, Dennie’s chatter refuses to let up. 

Hand in hand, Dennie leads Yaz to the bank of a lake to try out her endless conversation on a family of ducks. 

Less than a minute later, Yaz watches her learn the lesson that nobody can come between a mother and her ducklings, no matter how polite and apologetic one seems. 

Yaz raises her pecked finger to her lips to kiss better when Dennie protests. It seems to do the trick. 

“Remember when Bill and I took a swim in there last summer?”

“Yes, babe.”

“Should’ve really taken some clothes off first, in hindsight. And that mask.”

“Glad you’ve finally registered that, Dennie.”

At her side, Dennie stifles a laugh. Yaz tugs her closer to capture it and bottle it up. 

A few metres up the path, a red-painted bridge grants them a walkway over a shallow stream. Dennie leads her towards the railing with wielding fingers and gentle encouragement. 

Bumping shoulders with her girlfriend, Yaz eyes the water running beneath their feet in contented thought. In the evening sun, orange hues bounce off of the clear springs and lap at the abundant lily pads and reeds. Dennie nudges a pebble towards a gap in the spiralled metal and lets it disrupt the otherwise equilibrium. 

The swelling stream adapts until only ripples litter the surface, then dissipate altogether. 

“Bill told me to take you here on a date, back in first year,” Dennie divulges, and only when Yaz lifts her gaze does she notice Dennie’s eyes hadn’t paused in their quiet observation of her features. 

“Why didn’t you?” Yaz queries aloud before even considering the context. When she thinks back, a swell of regret lines her stomach. “Ah.”

“Danny Beeswax.” Dennie’s scrunching nose would be audible had she not been already looking her way. 

Yaz doesn’t bother correcting the name. “If it helps, he was a rubbish shag.”

“ _ Yaz _ .” 

“I’m bein’ deadly serious, babe. He didn’t make me come once,” Yaz continues if only to watch her girlfriend blush. Is it possible for someone to do so  _ aggressively? _

Yaz is almost too caught up in Dennie’s flaming cheeks to notice the hint of an emboldened smirk. “At least I don’t have much competition against him, then.”

Jaw hanging slightly, Yaz turns to better face her, lifting impressed brows when Dennie refuses to shy away from her gaze. “Been thinking about that a lot, huh?” 

“A decent amount.” Dennie wets her lips, gaze dipping to their counterparts. 

Yaz catches her chin between thumb and forefinger in a tender hold, leaning a little on her tiptoes. “Feeling confident?”

“Maybe. Not gonna jinx it, though,” Dennie hums, aligning then nudging their noses together. 

Yaz decides she likes the way debauchery laces her pupils. No. Scrap that. She might be a little obsessed with it. “Kiss me?”

“By all means.” The blonde cups her cheek when she meets her lips. She tastes of something sweet but also earthy, like a rising bud ready to bloom. Perhaps she is — perhaps Yaz should take the leaping jump into the next stage if Dennie is willing. 

Perhaps she should respond to her kiss first. 

With renewed vigour, Yaz slinks her arms around her neck and joins her hands behind her head, responding to Dennie’s enthusiasm with a swipe of her tongue along her bottom lip and into her mouth. 

Dennie’s hum gets swallowed up when Yaz walks her back into the railings and Dennie’s own arms sweep around her waist to drag her in.

Yaz kisses her breathless and dopey and pliant, lost in a sea of breathy sighs and pleased hums. 

Only when distant chatter carries along the path does Yaz register their very public display and ease off reluctantly. By the time she senses that anyone has entered their vicinity, she leans back on her heels and drops her forehead to Dennie’s shoulder to tame the racing pulse in her neck and the heat spreading south. 

“Christ,” Dennie pants under her breath, averting her gaze from the middle-aged couple eyeing them in suspicion and turning them both back towards the stream. 

Taking in Dennie’s gloriously dishevelled appearance and slightly swollen lips, Yaz lets free a giddy laugh which coaxes one from the blonde in return. “How’s this for a date, babe?” 

Dennie’s smile borders on ecstatic, if a little turned on. “Worth the wait.” 

* * *

While they gradually make their way back along the edge of the park, Dennie’s distracting chatter refuses to wane. 

Yaz finds herself, not for the first time, extremely grateful she’d picked the woman able to hold the longest one-sided conversation in history. 

“... And how was I meant to know they were melatonin gummies? I thought they were just your secret stash of sweets,” Dennie carries on, capturing Yaz’s pinky finger to entangle with her own and swing between them as they walk. “I slept for twenty six hours.” 

Yaz directs a slightly concerned grimace her way. “You missed all our lectures that day and we thought you’d gone ghost hunting in the woods behind campus without us. Didn’t really think to check your room. Probably should’ve, come to think of it.”

“I woke up thinking it was the day before — I had a complete head-wonk, Yaz. I were a mess.”

Yaz smirks, nudging her elbow. “Sounds like most of your time at university, babe.” 

Instead of rebutting with a cutting remark, the blonde at her side squeaks in delight and raises her free hand to wave frantically. To anyone else in the park, she might look a little mad. 

However, when a mop of ginger hair comes into view at the entrance to the park, accompanied by a surprised grin, Yaz’s confusion gives way to warmth. 

“Finn!” Dennie calls, dragging Yaz towards the youngster with the enthusiasm of someone reunited with a long lost friend after decades apart. She’s always been more excited about meeting their followers than they are. “Hiya!”

It’s only when Finn meets her gaze and his features soften in empathy that Yaz remembers why she’d needed some fresh air in the first place. Swallowing heavily, she instinctively braces herself. “Nice to see you again, Finn.”

“You too! Both of you. This is so weird.” 

“Think I still owe you that hug, mate. D’you mind? I love hugs.” 

“Everyone knows that, Dennie.” 

“You sure we weren’t best mates in another life?” Dennie teases, waiting for the tall young adult to nod before sweeping forward to offer up a warm, enthusiastic embrace. 

“Solid hug, mate. Ten out of ten,” she murmurs as she eases back, bumping shoulders with her girlfriend. “Might have some hug competition there, babe.”

Finn’s eyes widen imperceptibly at the pet name and Yaz sucks in a breath, cheeks pinkening. Oblivious, Dennie doesn’t react. 

“I just watched your video, actually,” Finn divulges delicately, straightening out the black denim jacket hugging his broad shoulders and coincidentally showing off a pin from their website; a sunflower with their logo placed in the centre. It’s her favourite design of Dennie’s to date. “And I wanted to say thank you, Yaz. It was really beautiful, how you presented it. And we all think you’re really brave. So — uh, thanks.”

“Oh, mate,” Yaz exhales around the sudden lump in her throat, curling her top lip down and capturing it between her teeth to hide the way it quivers. As if telepathic, Dennie squeezes her fingers between her own, thumb skirting her knuckles. In her peripheral vision, she can spot the warm smile she’s sporting. 

“It’s really cool how much you’re helping us — both of you — without even knowing it,” Finn continues, rocking on his toes and taking a nervous inhale when he spots the glistening length of Yaz’s bottom lid. “Just thought you might need to know that — cause there’ve been some hard times recently, but watching your videos totally helps.” 

“Thanks, Finn,” Dennie murmurs in her place, green eyes glossy. “You know you can always message my tweeting account —” 

“Twitter.”

“ _ Every time _ .”

“Ah, yeah. Well, you can always get in contact there, if you need to. My GIF collection is brilliant. I love GIFs. You heard of them?” 

Yaz’s teary laugh triggers Finn’s own and with a subtle shake of his head, he fails to reign in his bemusement. 

“Oi, what’s so funny, guys?”

* * *

“When someone orders something from the site, are their addresses stored?”

“Think so, babe. You might have to ask Bill, though. She usually checks over that stuff.” 

“Huh.” 

“Why?”

“Just wonderin’. You reckon we could stop off on the way back for some snacks?”

Yaz debates the idea for only a second before realising that the longer they’re out, the longer she can stay away from her phone and the world beyond its screen. 

“Sure, babe,” she answers instead. Then, “did you  _ seriously _ just fist pump over snacks?”

“Nope.” 

* * *

Dennie slumps onto the sofa minutes after they return to her flat, scooping up her laptop and propping her feet up on the coffee table with her ankles crossed. She pats the spot next to her when Yaz pads through with a hand braced against her freshly churning stomach. “You okay?”

“I hate this bit,” Yaz grits out, but settles in the space beside her nonetheless. Her phone lights up with a fresh notification the instant she picks it up. She unlocks it without checking, and opens her  _ Twitter _ app with a wince. 

“You’re okay.” Dennie reaches between them to skim her hand over her back, rubbing in affectionate swirls. “Honestly, it seems like everyone’s pretty relaxed about it. You’ve nothing to worry about, Yaz.”

And, quite surprisingly, Dennie is right. 

Her whole feed displays only oceans of positive remarks and praise and empathy and, with a drawn out exhale, Yaz sinks into Dennie’s side and lets her girlfriend wind secure arms around her. 

She lets her hold her while she reads, laughs and cries her way through thousands of replies and mentions and videos. 

In fact, she only pulls away when her screen shifts to a picture of her mother on holiday a year’s prior and fresh anxiety laces the lining of her stomach and turns her legs to jelly. “ _ Shit _ , Dennie. It’s my mum. What if she’s angry?”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine. Najia’s a decent mum and you said they already kind of know, right? Just answer, babe. And — although I really doubt it — if she’s mad, I’ll talk to her. Promise.”

“I’ve got you,” Dennie adds a second before Yaz presses  _ accept _ . 

When she draws the device to her ear and the only sounds which resonate from the speaker are quiet breaths and faint sniffles, Yaz braces herself against Dennie’s side and chokes on her next inhale, fearing the worst. 

She’s cataloguing how long she predicts it will take for her parents to come around to the idea; how long she’ll have to spend explaining herself; how long she’ll be shamed for her identity — when a teary voice echoes down the line. 

_ “Yasmin?”  _

Yaz’s grip is iron-like on Dennie’s forearm at the sound of her mother’s croaky tone. She can’t work out if there’s anger, disappointment or accusation lacing it yet, but her heart races like a drumbeat in her ears. 

“Mum? Did you watch the —” Skipping any excuses, Yaz hangs her head, the motions of Dennie’s palm against her back the only thing keeping her composed. “Are you angry?”

A gasp echoes through the receiver and Yaz stiffens. 

_ “Angry? Yasmin, love, why would we be angry?”  _

“You’re  _ not _ —?” 

_ “Of course we’re not. Don’t be silly.” _

“Oh,” Yaz breathes, the word sighed like a release; like a mould breaking and a newer, brighter one forming. At her side, Dennie relaxes, but her tentative ministrations continue. “But —” 

_ “No buts, Yaz. We love you unconditionally, no matter who you love or how you identify. Your father’s been on the internet all evening, trying to educate himself as much as he can. We both have. We’re so proud of you, Yasmin.”  _

Yaz’s next inhale breaks in half on its way to her lungs and with a choked sob, she nods, smiling against the sheen of tears grazing her pupils. Dennie’s arm is comforting when it winds around her waist. The kiss she presses against her cheek makes Yaz giggle despite herself. 

_ “Is Dennie there?” _

“Yeah, she’s right next to me.”

_ “Dennie?”  _ Najia sing-songs through the mic, alerting the blonde to her presence. 

“Yes, Yaz’s mum?” 

_ “It’s Najia. Could you give Yaz a hug for me?”  _

“Already on it, Yaz’s mum,” Dennie chimes back, nudging her laptop aside to better curl both arms around Yaz’s slim waist. 

She lets herself relax back into Dennie’s hold, breathing another shaky laugh down the line.

_ “Do you think you could come by tomorrow so I can do the honours myself?”  _

“Of course, yeah. I will, I promise.” 

_ “Well, I’ll leave you to it, for now. You must be quite exhausted from all this.”  _

“God, yeah. It’s been a lot, today,” Yaz answers honestly, curling a hand around one of the counterparts resting over her stomach and squeezing. 

_ “Make sure Dennie takes care of you, alright? And get an early night,” _ Najia returns in her typical fashion, making Yaz roll her eyes. She lets her get away with her fretting for today, though.  _ “And remember, we love you regardless of who you decide to love, Yasmin. As long as you’re safe and happy.”  _

Yaz nods, eyes closing as she imagines her mother’s presence beside her; the real, solid existence of her words echoing in her ears. 

Without vision, the room around her sinks away. 

So, she doesn’t think when the next words spill past her lips in honest confession. 

“That’s — that’s good, because I love Dennie, mum.”

The drop of a pin would sound like thunder in the room when Yaz’s eyes dart open in a frantic search for somewhere to settle other than the frozen form behind her. Even down the line, Najia seems at a loss for words. 

Her mother’s voice is deafening in the quiet when she supplies her response. She doesn’t sound surprised in the slightest.  _ “That’s wonderful, Yaz. I’m really happy for you. We both are. We’ll let you get back to your evening, now, though. It seems like you might need to have a conversation with someone. But we can talk about this tomorrow, yes?” _

Yaz honestly doesn’t think Dennie has taken in any oxygen since her admission. It’s that which makes her stammer. “Um — yeah. Yes, of course. Thanks, mum.”

_ “I love you.” _

“Love you too, mum.”

Dennie maintains her thoughtful silence all the way through their exchange of goodbyes and out the other side. Once Yaz has set her mobile aside, her senses shift into high alert. 

She turns after clearing her throat and meets Dennie’s stunned hazel gaze head-on. 

Yaz is glad to see she’s not the only deer in headlights. 

While she usually wilts under its weight, on this occasion the quiet allows her to better articulate her thoughts and align them with the restless words on the tip of her tongue. 

Yaz drops a hand to weave her fingers loosely through Dennie’s own and observes the way her features soften when she squeezes gently. There’s still uncertainty in her eyes, though, and even the corner of her mouth twitches as though battling between a smile and a frown. 

Yaz is desperate to rectify it. 

So, she goes with her gut. 

“I love you, Dennie,” she whispers to pools of hazel green, swallowing around a dozen other proclamations to find the right one again. She sighs through her nose in faux resignation when she locates the killing blow, thumb moulding around a strong knuckle. “I’m in love with you.”

As though hearing it for the first time all over again, Dennie’s lips part in silent awe and her gaze flits in search for any foul play in Yaz’s expression; any hints towards doubt or ambiguity. 

She passes her assessment, if the broadening line of Dennie’s lips is anything to go by. Her eyes have turned dark and mischievous and a little breathtaking. “You love me.”

It’s the first sentence she’s heard her say in the space of five minutes; too long, for her liking. The room is so much brighter and so much safer as a space to echo her dumbfounded whispers and rambling words than as one to silence her. There is not much Yaz wouldn’t take over a silenced Dennie Smith. Especially in a situation such as this. 

“I do, yeah. You okay with —” 

She’s not permitted much in the way of breathing room when a firm kiss steals the rest of her question from her lips and tosses it to the pigeons cooing just outside the window like seeds on which to feast. Dennie doesn’t even leave her room for thought when an eager tongue sweeps past her open mouth and delves deeper just to render her thoughts to rubble. 

Yaz sweeps an arm around her hips the instant she can coax herself back into action, and with a pleased hum, she returns the kiss with fervour. 

“I —” The statement dissolves into a grunt when Dennie lunges forward, climbing into Yaz’s lap like it’s second nature and securing her hips between her slim thighs. “I love you, too,” she finishes. 

Yaz presses harder, every sense suddenly wanting and heady and screaming  _ Dennie loves me back _ . 

It’s as though the sun itself returns her infatuation without a whisper of consequence. 

It’s as though every sunflower in every pasture has begun growing in her direction. 

It’s as though the whole scenario is make-believe. 

“Say it again,” Yaz sighs, slinking a hand up her back, over her shoulder, then down her arm to her hip in one smooth, gliding motion. She reposits it to her backside soon after just to swallow her swift inhale. “Dennie, say it again. Please.”

She doesn’t realise how needy the words fall from her lips until Dennie purrs, moulding into her palm with restless hips.

“I love you,” Dennie repeats on command, hips nestling closer to Yaz’s stomach when Yaz catches her bottom lip between her teeth and sucks. “I’m —  _ God,  _ I’m in love with you, Yasmin,” she pants upon release. 

Yaz sweeps a hand through blonde locks to keep her close, leaning back into the couch and dragging her with her. She’s dizzy with the effect of her confirmation, ducking her head to count the beats of her racing heart beneath her tongue instead. 

Panting against still reddened flesh, Yaz fixes her lips and tongue to her earlier marks to soothe any remnants of burning stings. The body in her lap squirms with the attention, forcing Yaz to grasp at her hips to keep her in place.

“Pinch me,” Dennie rasps against her shoulder, where Yaz can all but hear the dazed grin on her face. “Yaz, pinch me.”

Slipping the tips of her fingers beneath her top to span the curve of her waist, Yaz pulls back to meet Dennie’s dizzied eyes in question. “Why?” 

“So I know this is real?” Dennie admits, arms slung loosely around her shoulders. She winds a baby curl around her finger at the back of her neck and wets her bee-stung lips with a pink tongue. 

Yaz can’t help but follow the movement, then dance her eyes across her mouth when a grin seeps into place. Dennie’s command is more playful this time. “Do it.”

So, moving a hand from her waist to the space just below her girlfriend’s sports bra, Yaz pinches gently. 

Dennie’s flurry of laughter is that of giddy disbelief. Skating her hand around from the back of her neck, she cups her cheek and draws her in again. “Wow.” 

“Likewise,” Yaz sighs a centimetre from her lips, a pulse of warmth shrouding the pit of her stomach at Dennie’s shaky inhale. “Mind if we carry on, babe?”

At the blonde’s slightly goofy nod, Yaz traces the crease of her bottom lip with her tongue before she kisses her again. She lets Dennie bunch the material of her jumper in her fist to quell her impatience in the meantime. 

The instant she has resumed her attack on Dennie’s lips with tongue and teeth, Yaz nudges her fingers a touch further beneath the band of her girlfriend’s bra, seeking out small swells and the rise of a soft peak. 

“D’you want — d’you want to take it off?” Dennie whispers between kisses, angling her approach to swipe her tongue along the back of Yaz’s teeth. She arches into the contact and Yaz can feel the quickening beat of her heart beneath her fingertips. “You can, if you want.”

Wordlessly, Yaz hikes the garment up her torso and over her head to cast aside. The removal means their kiss breaks, and while Dennie sets about tracing her neck with her lips, Yaz skirts her thumb over a hardening bud to coax a moan. 

“You feel good, babe,” Yaz purrs, lifting her other hand up to match the attention with another curious digit. 

_ “God _ .”

“Close enough,” Yaz drawls with a smirk, but her smugness lilts when Dennie scrapes her teeth over her jugular and sucks experimentally at the protesting flesh. Conceding to a low moan, Yaz works her thumbs in concentric motions against her giving form. 

By the time Dennie’s squirming with every other stroke, Yaz has gained a trail of reddish abrasions along her neck to her jaw. Her fidgeting girlfriend pants faintly into her ear, catching the lobe between her teeth to tug in intrigue. 

“Do that again,” Yaz supplies, swallowing against the sudden husk to her voice. 

It seems to do wonders for Dennie, though, as she muffles a purr and shifts her hips against her toned stomach on the next approach. “Like this?” Dennie asks around a playful bite. 

It takes Yaz a moment to register the hand slipping beneath her top to spread over her firm stomach and glide upwards amidst her arousal. “Just like that. Good.”

Dennie’s relationship with praise and her need to please people is no less apparent in the way her lashes flutter and her eyes glaze over in response to a single utterance. Yaz takes great pleasure in granting her enough at just the right time to make her whine faintly against the curve of her ear. 

With a light tug at the hem of her top, Dennie ducks her head back down, meeting the junction of her neck and shoulder with the same enthusiasm she treats everything else in her life with. “I want to see you.” 

Yaz makes quick work of the material, then, before she can hesitate, unclasps and tosses away her bra. 

“Even it out, babe?” she purrs, batting her lashes at her blushing, jaw-slackened girlfriend. 

When Dennie gets too caught up in the sight of so much bare skin, Yaz leans in to nip at her bottom lip and recapture her foggy gaze. “Need some help?”

“No — no, I’m cool. I’ve got this,” Dennie stammers, crossing her arms behind her head and peeling the last item obstructing her top half off like a teenage boy. 

Yaz observes the display with nothing short of bemused adoration, capturing the sight of Dennie’s flushed cheeks and chest, ruffled hair and bare skin like a reel of film behind her eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful, babe,” she confides, lifting a hand between them to trace the curve of a supple breast. Dennie presses into the touch, thighs closing a little tighter around her hips. 

“Every inch.” 

“Even — um —” Dennie bites into her bottom lip when Yaz’s thumb finds her nipple again, pebbling in the cool temperature of the room — whether it’s to keep a moan at bay or anxiety, Yaz isn’t sure. “Nevermind.”

Yaz pauses instantly, lifting a hand to cup the side of her neck. “Hey, hey. Dennie, what were you goin’ to say? What’s on your mind? Do you want me to stop?”

“No! No, don’t stop. This is — this is  _ brilliant _ , believe me.” Dennie’s eyes widen to support her words, but her gaze flits down to the clothed thigh Yaz knows a scar is hidden beneath. 

It’s enough to alert Yaz to her trail of thought without even needing her to verbalise it. “ _ Jayden _ . You’re stunning, I can promise you that. Everything about you, babe; it’s beautiful. It’s unique. It’s  _ you _ . Don’t worry about a silly scar, Dennie, please. It’s just added character.” 

When Dennie averts her gaze with a heavy swallow, still gnawing at her pouting bottom lip, Yaz tips her chin up and presses a kiss to her temple in a way she knows will make her melt like putty. “I want you for your imperfections, not in spite of them, babe.” 

“Y’should really go into motivational speeches, Yaz,” Dennie teases, words weighted down with the release of apprehension and doubt. “Um — thanks, though. That’s — I feel better, now.”

“Just talk to me about this stuff next time, Dennie, please,” Yaz implores, curling her arms around her waist in a fashion she hopes is comforting rather than crowding. “Practice what you preach, huh?”

A rumble of laughter melts against her cheek and Dennie ducks her head with a guilty nod. “That’s me told.”

Yaz draws lazy circles into the warm skin of her waist and tempers the arousal fizzing still at the tips of her fingers down to her very toes in favour of simply taking pleasure in their closeness. 

Dennie, however, has other ideas in no time. While her anxiety wanes, she skims a palm up to Yaz’s chest, cupping a handful of a full breast and treating her to a mischievous grin when she locates a dusky nub. She circles the tightening flesh a few times before beginning to flick clipped nails over the surface, all while holding her heady gaze. 

Yaz leans into her touch with a faint hum, giving her a mere few seconds of power before she tightens her hold around her waist and twists. 

Dennie hits the couch with a grunt as she’s dumped lengthways along it, leaving Yaz to prowl over her reeling form and settle over one of her thighs with a smirk. 

Sprawled against the purple material with a giddy, teasing grin and wide, dark eyes, Dennie moans the instant Yaz ducks her head to close her mouth around a swollen pink nipple. 

“Don’t get cocky, babe,” Yaz drawls before biting down gently, tongue skirting the uneven edges before flicking quick and efficiently over the freshly hardening flesh. The body beneath hers moulds up into her in a plea for more, and, blanketed in a layer of arousal and need, Yaz shifts to press her knee against the seam of Dennie’s jeans. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Dennie gasps, clutching at Yaz’s hip with one hand while the other slips into her hair to hold her in place. “Keep doing that.  _ Please _ keep doing that.” 

“Yeah?” Yaz grazes her teeth over the surface, eyes flitting towards the space between them to find Dennie closing her legs around her knee and thigh and delighting in the pressure. “Like this?” she enquiries, closing her teeth around the nub and sucking it alongside the surrounding flesh. 

She spells their traded admissions out against her skin on repeat and the response she earns makes her dizzy. 

Dennie’s high-pitched whimper comes seconds before she goes rigid against her, eyes squinting shut. “ _ God _ , that’s good.”

When she tugs her hair in askance, Yaz disguises her moan as an eager suck. But when Dennie’s hips roll against the firm pressure between her thighs, she can’t hold back a gruff noise of approval. 

Once the hard peak of her nipple has been worked enough for her liking, Yaz moves onto its counterpart, taking note of the way Dennie braces herself with a shuddering inhale. “Still okay?” she whispers around the nub, checking in despite the mix of adrenaline and heat in her veins screaming at her to continue. 

“More than okay, oh my  _ God _ ,” Dennie breathes, a light sheen of sweat building just above her brows. “Feels like I’m dreaming.” 

“Want me to prove how real it is?” Yaz probes daringly, tongue swirling. She’s expecting her to blush and ask for a kiss; maybe a cuddle; maybe even let her carry on if only so she can shove her hand down her pants and work herself off to Yaz’s ministrations.

What she isn’t expecting is for Dennie to open her glassy eyes, swallow audibly, curl trembling fingers around the waistband of Yaz’s leggings, and say “I think I do, yeah. Um — properly.”

“Wait —” Yaz peels away from her breast with a soft pop, eyes wide and heat stirring tenfold between her thighs. “Hang on, do you mean you want to —” 

Dennie’s brows pinch until an adorable line creases her forehead as though battling an internal war Yaz has no voice in. She pouts her swollen lips, still slightly breathless.

In the meantime, Yaz pulls herself up to offer her some thinking room, but the clench of her stomach muscles work as another distraction, it seems. She can’t say she feels guilty if the way Dennie licks her lips at the sight is anything to go by. 

“We don’t have to, y’know. Like I said, there’s no rush. I don’t want to push you. We can do this when you’re ready.” 

Dennie readjusts the position of her head so she can look up at her properly, her face ruddy and pink. “Do you want me?” 

Yaz freezes, flummoxed, before nodding with all the enthusiasm she can muster. “Have done since our first kiss, babe.”

Dennie’s smile is infectious and rueful and bemused and Yaz has to fight the urgent need to kiss it. “I want you, too.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Yaz hums around a returning grin, smug as ever. “Can’t blame you, to be honest.” 

“Oh, my  _ God _ , I wish I never said anything,” Dennie groans in faux exasperation, but she can’t wipe the smile from her face. “Um — should we —” 

“We could take it to your room?” Yaz prompts gently, mindful of Dennie’s first-time jitters. She peels herself away, and sits up, missing the faint sigh Dennie breathes at the lack of pressure against her. “This sofa is great and all, but I think a bed might be comfier.” 

“Don’t diss my sofa, Yaz. I love that sofa.”

Standing, Yaz offers a hand. Dennie’s own trembles slightly in her hold when she accepts it. 

“If it converted into a bed, that would be a lot easier. Imagine that, Yaz? Sofas which convert into beds?” she chatters, letting Yaz lead the way to her room. 

Yaz pauses in the doorway to seek her girlfriend out in the low light. “You do know they already exist, right?” 

“Wait — really?”

“Oh my  _ God _ .” Yaz pauses at the edge of the bed to face the blonde after turning on a bedside light. In the soft golden glow, she looks even more angelic and untouched. Yaz is momentarily stumped. “Um —”

“Do you want me to take these off?” Dennie begins for her, motioning to the blue denim boyfriend jeans loosely hugging her hips. She rocks on her toes, pulse racing visibly in her neck upon inspection.

Yaz nods, working to restore the bond between brain and tongue. “Yeah. Yes, that’s great. Good idea.”

“Hey, it’s both our firsts, Yaz,” Dennie reminds her gently, unzipping the fly of her jeans and baring creamy thighs and a pair of pale pink boxers with tiny rainbows dusting their surface. “No pressure on you either, okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry. Thanks.” Trying not to get caught up, Yaz peels away her own bottoms, casting aside the grey leggings in place of a pair of lace hemmed black knickers. Before she can think too much about the dark look Dennie shoots her, she straightens up and pads over to dark blue sheets. 

Sitting down on the edge, she bites her lip and works to steady the drumming in her ears. “Come here, babe.” 

The scar marking Dennie’s thigh is barely visible in the low light, and as she approaches, Yaz lifts her hands in a wanton motion. 

The second she comes to a stop in front of her, Yaz settles her hands on the subtle swells of her hips. “Tell me the second you want to stop, okay? Promise?” 

“Promise,” Dennie confirms, toes curling in the plush grey rug beneath her feet. She smooths a hand along the back of Yaz’s neck, thumb brushing the sensitive spot behind her ear she knows makes Yaz sigh in approval. It’s all she’s ever looking for; approval. “You too?”

Leaning in, Yaz presses her lips to the curve of Dennie’s ribcage, following it down to the dip of her lithe stomach and along the edge towards her waistband. “Promise,” she says to her skin. 

Dennie sucks in a breath when Yaz’s mouth pauses at the band of her underwear to flirt her tongue over the flesh. 

When she follows with her teeth, the hand at the back of her neck slips into her hair and tightens its hold. 

Dennie’s moan echoes in the spacious room and urges her on until a stroke of crimson adds to the palette of pale pinks and creams painting her body into fruition.

“Dennie, is it alright if I—” Yaz starts as she moves south, skipping the waistband of her underwear to mouth at the skin just above her puckered scar. 

“S’fine, you can do anything,” Dennie sighs, head tipped back upon Yaz’s next glance up. “Please.”

Just as she finds the tail end of the marred skin which brought them together, Dennie freezes in her hold. When only a whimpered moan meets the room, however, Yaz relaxes back into the action with a swipe of her tongue and a series of reverent kisses. “You’re so gorgeous, Jayden.” 

_ “Yaz _ ,” Dennie whines, stomach muscles tensing and hips twitching. 

“I want you, Dennie,” Yaz sighs in turn, skimming her hands up her sides to her chest again. She finds both nipples pebbled and sensitive and Dennie’s thighs tremble between her legs. 

Dennie’s response is instantaneous and she can tell she’s coiled tight enough to burst. “Then have me,  _ please.”  _

Yaz can tell she’s not going to be able to stand for much longer with attention like this, so with a reluctant hum, she draws back and turns. “Come and lie down for me, babe.”

Dennie climbs onto the bed with enough enthusiasm to knock the bedside lamp off its perch, and, cursing, she scrambles to right it before slumping into the sheets as though nothing ever happened. 

It happens so fast Yaz has to muffle a laugh. “Okay there, Dennie?”

“Mm-hm,” Dennie hums, crossing one leg over the other and taking a slow exhale when Yaz crawls over towards her. 

It’s a sizable bed, so Yaz makes the most of her attempt at a seductive prowl. She can tell it’s a little awkward, but the effect makes it worth it. 

Dennie’s chest is heaving slightly by the time Yaz leers over her to press their lips together, arms braced either side of her shoulders and a thigh slotting between her own. 

“Yaz, please,” Dennie pleads against her lips and  _ really _ , Yaz should’ve known she had a kink for that. Or perhaps it's just because it’s Dennie rasping into her mouth. 

Pulling back with the addition of a string of saliva, Yaz ducks her head to mouth at her chest in a gradual trail south. She’s extremely glad she’d plaited her hair earlier in the day when she reaches the band of her boxers and sinks down. “Okay?”

“Please don’t stop,” Dennie gasps from above and it sets Yaz’s whole system alight all at once. 

Here goes. 

Plucking the thin material from her hips and dragging them down silky thighs, Yaz discards Dennie’s underwear somewhere behind her and shifts to settle on her stomach between thighs which part for her. 

And  _ God _ , if she hadn’t already thought Dennie was beautiful enough, she reels at the sight of dampened folds and fluttering flesh and the insinuation that she was the person to coax the reaction from her.

“God, you’re soaked, babe.”

Flushed cheeks and wide, bashful eyes turn down towards her when Yaz presses her lips to her thigh, working out her plan of attack. 

Dennie tenses up, hips twitching stubbornly. “Sorry.”

“Please don’t apologise,” Yaz sighs, breaths ghosting over her core in a teasing caress. “Fuck, Dennie. Can I—? Please?”

“ _ Yes,”  _ she all but begs, hips raising into the flit of hot exhales. 

The first swipe of her tongue through Dennie’s folds is like the first bite into the ripest of fruits. There’s a salty sweetness to her like cinema popcorn but also a musk which keeps her coming back for more. Briefly, she wonders if one can become addicted from their very first hit. 

Resolvedly, she finds she wouldn’t mind. 

The second taste is just as good, but the sound it draws from Dennie is even better. A hand sweeps into her hair, clasping, gripping for dear life; guiding her to where she’s swollen and waiting for attention. 

She doesn’t find her clit right away, but when she does, it makes up for her initial embarrassment. Head thrown back and thighs quivering, Dennie is thrown from their plane of existence and cast somewhere else, leaving only a string of  _ oh my God _ ’s and  _ yes right there _ ’s behind. 

She swirls the point of her tongue in lazy motions against her clit, picking up speed before easing off again just like she’d seen her doing only this morning in her one-woman performance. 

Her hands curl around the backs of her thighs to keep her mostly in place, but the longer she laps and swirls and sucks at her, the harder it is to control her lithe hips. In the end, she rides alongside her, swathing her tongue across her entrance and pirouetting it around her clit as directed by her canting movements. 

“You’re amazing,” Dennie professes in a high pitched whimper when Yaz centres her attention on her entrance, tongue delving shallowly past slippery flesh in search of more flavours to add to her plate. “ _ God _ , Yaz. Yes — inside,  _ please _ .” 

Purring her affirmation against her, Yaz dives deeper, lapping at delicate pink walls and taking her in straight from the source. At the same time as Dennie releases a staggered groan, fingers flexing in her hair, a fresh wave of arousal coats her tongue which makes Yaz’s own thighs clench around empty space. 

Dennie has lost the ability to form words by the time she slinks back up to her clit, replacing her tongue with a curious finger at her entrance. 

When she shows no signs of refusal, Yaz glides her finger past drenched folds like a knife through butter, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a sight so glorious. The soundtrack is pretty impressive too; Dennie arches her back with her throatiest cry so far, thighs beginning to clench around Yaz’s head. 

Yaz takes to spelling her name against her clit with a barely concealed smirk while Dennie unfurls around her like the much-awaited bloom of a sunflower in midsummer. 

She’s completing the  _ a _ in her last name for the thirteenth time and pumping her finger at a steady pace inside her when Dennie goes rigid and begins pulsing around her working digit like an overworked heartbeat. While a touch surprised, Yaz works her through her orgasm and saves each and every gasp and cry for nights she’ll spend alone. 

Yaz is still lapping eagerly at her clit when Dennie squirms from oversensitivity and gives a pleading tug at her hair a short time later, face red and chest rising and falling without respite. 

Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth and her own finger against the sheets, Yaz crawls back up beside her with a gleeful grin. “That was fas—” 

“Don’t,” Dennie whines, closing her palms over her face and squeezing her eyes shut. Her thighs are still trembling and she closes them to assist with the waves of pleasure toying at her stomach muscles. “I’m sorry. I just — you had me so worked up, Yaz. I couldn’t help it.” 

“Hey, hey,” Yaz sighs, rolling onto her side to peel her hands away. She presses a kiss to the corner of her lips and sets her own needs on the backburner to cater to her. “It’s okay. I was only teasing. Plus,” she leans in, pressing another kiss to the curve of her jaw. “It just means it can be the first of many for tonight.”

Guilty green shifts to a duskier hue and Dennie bites down on the corner of her lip to hold a grin at bay. “Really?” 

“Definitely,” Yaz purrs, leaning into the kiss Dennie initiates a second later. She sweeps her tongue past her lips and swallows Dennie’s moan when she tastes herself for the first time. 

When she glides a hand back down over her stomach, though, Dennie stops her with a hand on her wrist and pulls back to tilt her head. “Think it’s your turn, first, Yaz.” 

“You sure? It’s really not going to take much after all that, babe.” 

“All the more incentive,” Dennie hums, guiding Yaz onto her back. Her orgasm seems to have emboldened her, and it restokes the flames in Yaz’s gut in an instant. “So I can get you there more than once.” 

Yaz affords her a smirk even as she lies back, gasping when Dennie ducks her head to meet her neck with her tongue. “You can say the word  _ orgasm _ , y’know?” 

“ _ Yaz _ ,” Dennie whines, scrunching her nose, and she laughs through the next kiss, tension dissolving. “You know I can’t say that word without blushing.” 

Yaz is still giggling to herself when Dennie slides a hand along her thigh to meet its apex, drawing a gasp from the tail end of her amusement.

Over the fabric of her underwear, Dennie presses two fingers against her soaked core and draws back from her neck to look at her in surprise. “Oh my  _ God _ . S’that all from me?”

Breathing in through her nose and out unsteadily past her lips, Yaz parts her thighs for more. “‘Course it is, babe. Don’t know if you know this yet, but you sound fucking  _ amazing _ . And you taste pretty good, too.” 

Hiding a hint of bashful pride, Dennie rests her cheek against her collarbone while she nudges her fingertips straight into her underwear rather than taking them off. “Can I —” 

“Please,” Yaz breathes, lifting a leg to plant her foot flat against the sheets and gain a better angle for her girlfriend’s ministrations. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” is the first thing Dennie rasps out when her fingers meet a wall of slippery heat like molten lava. “You — um — I noticed you usually just stick to your clit, right? When we’re… y’know. Is that — is that what you’d like?”

It shouldn’t make her soften as much as it does to know that Dennie has been taking notes, but alas — “You’re so good, babe. You’re right. That’s perfect. Thanks.” 

Like a happy puppy or a teacher’s pet congratulated, Dennie emits a pleased hum from the back of her throat and perfectly seeks out Yaz’s swollen clit. 

With talented fingers and her lips pressed to the dusky nub of her breast, Dennie works her up as though they’ve been doing this for years. 

She should’ve known she’d be good with her hands — she’s studied them for long enough. When she starts applying a dab more pressure, though, Yaz can’t help but grip at her working forearm and moan a stream of curses under her breath.

Dennie glances up to judge the motion which triggered it before adding a touch more weight to her movements. “That better?”

“So good,” Yaz gasps, eyes rolling back in her head. When she hones in on the tongue circling her nipple at the same time as Dennie scrawls messily but firmly against her clit, she winds up faster than ever before. “Fuck — wait, I’m —”

“It’s okay,” Dennie purrs, grazing her teeth over her nipple and contorting her like one would a puppet they own. In a way, it almost makes sense. “Just the first, Yaz.”

“ _ Dennie _ ,” Yaz all but squeaks a moment later, stomach coiling like a viper ready to attack. With every sure stroke and every sighed breath against her breast, the snake’s fangs bare and a forked tongue hisses. 

Until, not a moment too soon, Yaz is pulled taut. Shaking and clutching at Dennie’s still flexing arm, she reaches her peak with a breathless cry of her name. And it’s not enough, apparently, to sate Dennie’s appetite. 

Her second orgasm comes around even faster. It’s as though Dennie has networked her brain into hypersensitivity, and every crook of her fingers, every tiny, miniscule stroke is heightened until she has nowhere to go other than oblivion. 

She thinks she might come again before Dennie draws her hand back and moulds into her side with a series of affectionate kisses to her shoulder and neck, gently coaxing her down from cloud nine. 

Yaz is still a little foggy when she finally sinks back into the sheets, chest heaving and thighs still clenched against her thrumming nerve endings. “Are you —  _ Christ _ — are you  _ sure _ you’ve never done that before?” 

Through a bashful laugh, Dennie grins. “Never. Was it that good?”

Working against the ego she can almost physically see building behind Dennie’s eyes, Yaz shrugs, still catching her breath. “It was alright, I guess.”

“You’re the worst,” Dennie groans, curling around her form and slumping atop her like a restless feline in search of a place to settle.

“The worst _? _ ” Yaz repeats, shifting from under her lazing girlfriend and straddling her thigh with shaky limbs the next minute. “ _ The worst?” _

“Mm-hm,” Dennie insists, mischief lining glowing hazel. “What are you going to do about it?” 

Yaz sits back so she can nudge Dennie’s thighs apart and wriggle a determined hand between them with ease, delighting in Dennie’s barely concealed grunt of approval. “Prove you wrong, of course.”

* * *

Muscles aching in the best kind of way, Yaz wakes the next morning to a faceful of blonde hair and a solid form coiled around her own but a distinct weightlessness to her chest where, for the last few months, she’d been harbouring a solid closet of concrete. 

For the first morning since she can remember, Yaz doesn’t wince the minute the sun filters in past the blinds and her phone chimes with her daily alarm. Instead, she takes a breath, closes her eyes, and gives back into the pull of sleep in the embrace of the woman who loves her.

“I’m  _ not _ wearing your clown costume,” Dennie mumbles against her chest, nestling closer in sleep. “I don’t care if it saves your donkey. Tell him to brush his teeth more often.” 

And unfortunately, she loves her right back. 

  
  


* * *

_ INSTAGRAM POST @YazKhans 23 June 2020 [9:30AM]: everyone meet my girlfriend dennie <3 _

**_[The attached image has been taken on a balcony. Dennie smiles from behind her mug with a half-eaten breakfast laid before her. She’s wearing a hoodie from their merchandise with Yaz’s name printed to the left of her chest]_ **

* * *

_ bill [9:39AM]: DENNIE I CAN SENSE SEX HAIR AND POST ORGASM VIBES WHEN I SEE THEM DID YOU GUYS FINALLY BONE _

_ dennie [9:43AM]: BILL _

_ yaz [9:43AM]: : ) _

_ bill [9:43AM]: OMG CONGRATS NOW PLS GET IT OUT OF UR SYSTEM BEFORE I NEXT SEE U AND DENNIE PLEASE DONT GET YAZ PREGNANT X _

_ dennie [9:45AM]: bill do u know how sex with a person with a vagina works  _

_ bill changed dennie’s name to no longer the last virgin in existence  _

_ no longer the last virgin in existence [9:45AM]: prick _

_ bill [9:46AM]: go and serve ur queen babes _

_ yaz [9:46AM]: bills right cmere den _

_ no longer the last virgin in existence [9:47AM]: brb _

_ bill [9:47AM]: ew i didnt mean it stop sinning guys _

_ bill [9:48AM]: guys???????? _

_ bill [10:00AM]: ffs  _

_ no longer the last virgin in existence [11:34AM]: sup _

_ bill [11:36AM]: an hour and a half?????????? _

_ no longer the last virgin in existence [11:37AM]: : ) _

* * *

_ @PinkNews 23 June 2020 [9:00AM]: Popular Online Influencers Dennie Smith and Yasmin Khan Get Hot and Heavy in Local Park Hours After Yaz Confirms Bisexuality to Fans _

_ @denniesclxwn 24 June 2020 [12:41PM] um guys i just got sent an idiots roaming package???????? Even though i haven’t bought one recently???? And its full of signed stuff and a bunch of sweets and biscuits????  _

_ @denniesclxwn @denniestan: oh my GOD that’s deffo from dennie please remember us when ur part of idiots roaming  _

_ @denniesclxwn @fourgaysroaming: finn i cant believe ur literally dennies new bff  _

_ @denniesmithofficial 24 June 2020 [3:00PM] just realised platypuses still exist??? thought they were only around in the jurassic period?? need some time away to reflect x _

__

_ @pottsbill 24 June 2020 [3:10PM] can someone please take twitter away from user @ / denniesmithofficial  _


	7. the barn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hope you're all doing ok! x

“I think this might be it, fam,” Dennie breathes through a yawn. After two days of on-and-off driving, she’s never been more grateful to reach their first official accommodation. Pulling up beside the barn conversion on the outskirts of Milan, she twists the key to turn the ignition off and finally blinks against stinging eyes. “I’m never driving for that long ever again.”

“Nice one, mate. I’ll get the first round in once we’ve all had some sleep.” Clapping her hand against Dennie’s shoulder in good-natured praise, Bill slides open the back door and steps out into the cool air of the very early hours of the morning, followed groggily by Rose. “Did the air b ‘nd b bloke say the key was under the plant pot?” 

Dennie draws up the messaging thread with their host and nods in confirmation. “Should be there somewhere, yeah. Go ahead, guys.”

“Good luck waking up sleeping beauty,” Rose gripes with a laugh, opening up the boot to drag her suitcase out while Dennie turns to the dozing form in the passenger seat. 

“Yaz?” Dennie whispers, brushing a messy curl from her closed eyes before letting the back of her fingers come to rest against her cheek. “We’re here, Yaz. Wakey-wakey.” 

A faint grumble signals her rouse from unconsciousness and Dennie sends her a grin weighted down by fatigue in the dark. “Come on, Yaz. We just have to get inside and then we can sleep in — uh, a little more comfortable place.” 

With a low hum, Yaz raises her head from the windowsill where Dennie’s hoodie serves as a pillow and takes in their surroundings with half-open eyes. “We’ve arrived?”

“We have — and no incidents! Just smooth sailing, baby. Fancy that?”

“Don’t jinx it, babe.”

Dennie snorts, dropping a kiss to her hairline before nudging her door open for a well-deserved stretch of her legs. “C’mon, let’s grab our things. Bill and Rose are already inside.”

On legs like jelly, Dennie watches her girlfriend draw her hoodie over her head, a dark blue _Dennie Smith_ emblazoned just above her breast. Right where it belongs. 

If she weren’t so exhausted, she’d do something about the flare of arousal the sight inflicts upon the pit of her stomach. 

For now, though, Dennie simply desires a comfy bed and a pair of equally snug arms. So, shrugging her rucksack over her shoulders and lugging her suitcase from the back of the van, she waits for her girlfriend to do the same before heading along the white-tiled path to the door. 

The modern-furnished house is a modest size, its single level meaning the ceilings reach high into the eaves where dark wooden beams are exposed. Their spacious bedroom sits the opposite side of the house to where she can already hear Bill and Rose giggling between whispers, and with a grimace, Dennie drags her suitcase into the room and flops indignantly onto the crisp sheets, face first. 

“Think I’m dying,” she grumbles into the sea salt tinted material as a wave of exhaustion wraps its claws around her brain and drags at her eyelids. “Yaz, I’m _dying_.” 

The bedroom door closes and she can hear Yaz shuffling their bags over tarnished wood through the sound of her sighing muscles. 

When she realises she’s not paying her any attention — the _audacity —_ Dennie grumbles a degree louder, rolling onto her side to seek her girlfriend out. 

At the end of the bed, Yaz unzips her suitcase and slips free an old university top to sleep in, taking no notice of the fact she’s losing vital minutes

“ _Yaz_ ,” she whines, bottom lip puckering while Yaz’s simply curls up into a half-hidden smirk. 

“Babe, you’re not dying. You’re tired.” 

Dennie gasps, propping herself up on her elbows and pinching her brows in a helpless expression. “Yaz, I’m dying, and only you have the antidote. Can you cure me?”

“What’s the cure, then?” Yaz drawls and Dennie thinks she might be laughing from behind a curtain of dark curls. She can’t tell, though — what with her dying. She thinks her vision might be fading. 

_Maybe her head really will fall off this time?_

She licks her lips, blinking through a haze. “Pop your top off for me?” 

While she can’t resist a snicker, Yaz shakes her head and nudges at a converse-clad foot hanging off the edge of the bed. “Perv. Get your shoes off the bed. This place was expensive.” 

“You think a dying person would worry about their shoes? What kinda exciting last activity is that?” 

“Oh, knock it off, you big baby,” Yaz groans, toeing her trainers off and reaching for the hem of her top. Wordlessly, she peels the material over her torso alongside her sports bra and changes it for her sleep shirt, and really — how is Dennie to react other than by going slack-jawed and gooey-eyed?

Pressing her thighs together when she flushes from head to toe, Dennie sits up to undo her shoelaces and wriggle her high-tops from her feet. “Y’know, I read an article somewhere on the inter-nest —” 

“Internet.”

“ — and there’s a law in Italy which states that you have to sleep without a top on if you have a girlfriend,” Dennie states with confidence, slipping from the bed to change her own clothes. 

Yaz unzips her fly and slides her shorts off, rolling her eyes. “Yeah? Was it right under an article about the moon being an egg?”

Down to her t-shirt and boxer shorts, decorated with tiny dachshund cartoons, Dennie’s mouth forms an _o_ shape. “Wow,” she breathes in dismay. “Low blow, Yaz. Low blow. Just ‘cause you can’t handle the tru—” 

Yaz pads across the room to swallow any more complaints past her lips, and Dennie has no choice but to melt into the pressure until her thoughts are scrambled and hazy in bliss. 

As soon as Dennie curls a hand into her top to drag her closer, however, Yaz pulls back. “You look exhausted, babe. Save that for tomorrow.” 

She foregoes the urge in her gut and nods, stepping aside when Yaz moves to peel the sheets back. 

Only once Dennie has opened the textured windows does she slope into bed and immediately press against her girlfriend. “Can I be the big spoon?”

“Of course, babe,” Yaz hums, turning out the light and rolling onto her side. 

In an instant, Dennie nestles her nose against the back of Yaz’s neck — noticing gratefully that she’d tied her hair up for extra closeness — and coils an arm around her waist to rest her hand against her stomach beneath her top, hips moulded to her backside. “You feel good, Yaz.”

“Yeah?” Yaz hums, taking a slow inhale. 

“Mm-hm.” 

Dennie can feel each breath she takes as if they were her own lungs expanding; her own transfer of oxygen to carbon dioxide and her own muscles relaxing. In this position, they are one. That’s why it’s her favourite. 

It’s also why slumber greets her so effortlessly, coiling its arms around her form and easing her into unconsciousness like a whisper of wind from the open window. 

* * *

In a blink, warmth and light filters in through the mesh curtains and exposes them in an entanglement of limbs and half-discarded sheets. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but the warm body pressed against the length of her front lulls ber back into hazy consciousness in seconds. 

Breathing a sigh through her nose against the curve of Yaz’s neck, Dennie resettles behind her and gives in once more to the pull of sleep. 

The arm tucked under Yaz’s head and stretched out across the bed in front of her pulses on the edge of numbness, but she can’t find it in herself to care when Yaz hums contentedly and nestles closer. 

There’s a busy street of family-owned businesses just behind their house and Dennie listens blindly to the chattering voices and waking city with a sense of excitement tailored to experiencing a location for the first time. 

She’s buzzing with so much adrenaline that drowsiness ebbs away from her like a river at the peak of a flood and with a moment’s hesitation, she presses her lips to the back of Yaz’s neck and whispers her name into her sleep-dishevelled hair. 

A faint grumble and a shift of limbs later, Dennie is able to reclaim her arm from under Yaz’s head. Her girlfriend, however, doesn’t seem keen to rouse any time soon, so she sits up with a stretch and seeks out the notepad in the front pocket of her rucksack. 

_Gonna take a walk and grab everyone some breakfast. You looked too peaceful to disturb. Back in a tick x —_ Dennie scrawls in messy print across the page before she slips into a pair of blue denim shorts, a white tee and a dark green plaid shirt. She tucks her phone and her wallet into her pocket, wriggles into her trusty white converse and slips past the door with a kiss to Yaz’s forehead. 

Bill and Rose are soundless as she slips through the house, sparing a glance at the decorations now they’re bathed in natural light. Plants line each windowsill and there’s a balcony at the back of the house large enough for a full-sized dining table and chairs. Below the balcony sits a modest pool in the shape of a shell and, resisting the urge to simply dive in, Dennie grabs the keys and heads out the front door. 

The streets are alive and loud and the scent of fresh bread and baked goods serves as Dennie’s map through the neighbourhood. She’s always been one to follow her stomach and it hasn’t led her astray so far — apart from the time at the zoo and an open gate to the orangutan enclosure. Orangutans like biscuits too, apparently. 

There’s a _panificio_ on the left along the cobble-stoned street with a pastel yellow door and after a quick glance into her language guide, she’s pleased to deduce the local bakery open for business. 

She’s even more pleased to find that her effort to learn Italian hasn’t been wasted, despite the broken way in which she conducts her sentences. She gets there in the end if only for some amused support from the greying, olive-skinned woman behind the counter with a smile which continuously reaches her decorated ears. 

A paper bag of pastries and homemade bread later, Dennie bites into a well-earned cookie with a pleased grin and a mouthful of thanks. 

On her amble back to the house, she offers a grinning “Buongiorno!” to those she passes, uncaring as to how eager she might seem. Stall workers and commuters alike grin their gratitude and something in Dennie’s chest bursts against her ribs. 

The sound of running water finds her ears when she steps in through the door again. Setting their breakfast and a condensation-drowned bottle of homemade lemonade on the counter in the large, open kitchen-diner, she toes her shoes off and meanders through to her shared bedroom. 

Bed empty, Dennie surmises that her girlfriend must be showering in their adjoining en suite. She’s happy to find the door to which is unlocked, but she knocks first anyway. “Yaz?”

“Come on in,” Yaz calls out over the sound of rushing water. 

Dennie locks the door behind her when she slips inside, heeding Bill’s squealed command from merely a week earlier. 

“Room in there for me?” she drawls to the bare form behind a pane of glass. There are two strips where the panels are blurred and Dennie momentarily curses the invention when they inconveniently obscure Yaz’s chest and hips. 

However, it doesn’t stop her admiring her girlfriend’s shape while she wriggles her socks off and reaches for the hem of her top. 

“Depends,” Yaz starts, wiping cloudy condensation away to be able to watch her peel her clothes off. “What breakfast did you get me?” 

Dennie grins, tossing her plaid aside and following with her tee. “Only the finest.”

“Yeah?” Yaz reaches up to drag her fingers through wet curls. Dennie bristles with jealousy at the head of the rainfall shower. “Come on, then. Be quick.” 

Hastily, she scrabbles out of the remainder of her clothes and casts them carelessly aside. Because her girlfriend is _gloriously naked and waiting for her_. 

Dennie wouldn’t hesitate to run a marathon for just a slither of bare brown skin. 

As soon as she steps into the expansive shower, Dennie curls her arms brazenly around a slim waist and presses her lips to the back of Yaz’s shoulder. “Hi.”

“Morning, babe,” Yaz hums, turning her head to meet her gaze and holding back a smile when Dennie scrunches her nose at her. She shuffles until she can position Dennie under the spray before looping her arms around her waist in a lazy embrace, stealing an appreciative glance over her form which makes the blonde blush. “You were up early. Everything alright?” 

Dennie tilts her head back under the torrent, letting it seep through her blonde locks and alert her to the undercut she’d recently embraced. Sufficiently dampened, she straightens up again. “Got too excited about exploring. And I were hungry. I had a _delicious_ cookie, Yaz. it were still warm. The lady in the bakery gave it to me for free because my Italian was so good.”

“Should’ve known,” Yaz snickers, reaching past her shoulder for a bottle of shower gel. 

A flare shoots from her head to the pit of her stomach at the knowledge Dennie will smell just like her girlfriend for the rest of the day; of coconut and honey and _Yaz_.

She bites into her bottom lip when Yaz lathers her hands up and curls them around her shoulders to slink down her arms, allowing her gaze to roam while Yaz’s attention is diverted. 

Foamy palms moving to her waist, Yaz purposely avoids the areas where Dennie is yearning for attention. She circles her breasts without daring to approach her peaks and lowers her hands to her hips and thighs sans encroaching upon her needy apex. 

Dennie’s breath catches in her throat when Yaz manoeuvres her back under the spray again with no relief, and she can only swallow when her half-lidded eyes raise to reunite with her girlfriend’s darkening pupils. “Yaz, can we —” 

Hot lips seal onto her breast at the same time as Yaz sinks a hand between her legs to find her clit and Dennie gasps in favour of the remainder of her request, head dropping back against solid tiles with a faint thud. 

“Easy, babe,” Yaz chides her gently, concerned eyes flitting up. 

She locates her clit and starts a rhythm of tight circles against the hooded flesh when Dennie nods for her to continue, tongue swiping against a hardening bud and coaxing it into a pink peak.

Dennie’s resultant moan echoes into the capacious room and she grips at a strong shoulder for leverage, hot water no comparison to the molten tongue working at her chest. 

Hips riding the motions of her fingers, Dennie’s clipped nails scrawl half crescents against Yaz’s back and she pants with the effort to hold back. If the last month of bold touches and entwined bodies have taught her anything, it’s that holding on makes the final act all the more satisfying. 

But if Yaz carries on her ministrations against her clit, she’s not confident in her restraint. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ , inside,” Dennie rasps at the same time as Yaz moves to her neglected breast. She hitches a thigh over her hip and almost slips until her girlfriend catches her waist and presses her more firmly against the sodden white tiles. 

Yaz curls her free hand around her thigh to secure it in place. “Say please.”

“Please, Yaz, I need you inside,” Dennie whimpers in an instant, gut clenching and another rush of heat flooding to her empty walls at the commanding edge to her tone. “I need it, please.”

Two fingers ease past swollen folds with zero resistance and, biting down on Yaz’s shoulder, Dennie grinds into the pressure and the squeeze and the heat of Yaz’s fingers with a broken cry. “ _Fuck_.”

“Good?” Yaz hisses through her teeth, cheeks and chest flushing when Dennie grazes her own over her broad muscle again. 

Dennie peels back to seek out her lips, hips swivelling steadily. “So good.”

Yaz sets up a steady pace of thrusts which land deep and fast, kissing her until her jaw slackens and Dennie simply pants into her mouth between moans. 

When Dennie tips her head back against the cool tiles again, Yaz’s mouth latches onto the base of her throat to coax blood to the surface in a flurry of heady sensation. 

“M’not gonna last,” Dennie confesses to the still flowing water. Her breath hitches and she groans loud enough to potentially wake the other residents of the house when Yaz hitches her thigh higher over her hip, the angle providing a direct hit to her most sensitive bundle of nerves with every thrust of her slender fingers. 

Yaz’s head lifts at the reaction and, crooking her fingers in the direction of the same mind-numbing spot over and over again, Dennie can see her marvelling in her peripherals. 

“Are you close, babe?” she prompts, tongue swiping along her jaw as it clenches. 

With a nod, Dennie drops a hand to grip at Yaz’s forearm. “I’m so close, Yaz. Please, I need more.” 

Yaz brings her thumb up to hover over her clit and Dennie keens, hips twitching. “More?” 

“ _Please_ ,” Dennie whines, her collapse into the abyss dependent on the pressure against her swollen, oversensitive flesh. “Yaz, I need it.” 

Taking mercy, Yaz diminishes the space between her thumb and her clit and speeds up the motions of the fingers buried inside her. At the same time, she captures her lips and swallows her pleased whimper. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dennie groans into her mouth as she starts fluttering around her fingers, pulsing heat spreading down from her core and rendering her legs jellied. “Yaz, please can I —” 

Capturing Dennie’s bottom lip between her teeth and flitting her tongue over the surface, Yaz presses down hard against her clit to conduct her final attack. “Come for me, babe.”

Dennie’s cry is muffled by Yaz’s mouth as she ruts desperately against her working hand, trembling until Yaz is forced to secure her arms around her to keep her upright. The water falling overhead does nothing to cool her skin and she squirms when the spray laps over her sensitive chest. 

Yaz pumps her fingers all through her orgasm and out the other side and only stops when Dennie whimpers and taps at her wrist, slumping against her chest. “ _Fuck_.”

“Was that okay?” Yaz murmurs, drawing her hand back to run under the water for a second before encircling her waist with both arms. 

Dennie lifts her head to press a kiss to the corner of her lips, eyes clouded and mind hazy. “Amazing. I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner. How’d I resist you for so long?”

Muffling a laugh, Yaz reaches over Dennie’s shoulder for a bottle of shampoo. “No idea, babe. Now turn around and let me do your hair before we use up all the hot water in Italy.”

“But —” Throwing a frown at her as she’s swirled around, Dennie huffs. “Don’t I get my turn?”

“Later, babe. This was about you.” Yaz lifts her hands to comb foamy fingers through her wet hair and scratch against her scalp in a fashion which makes Dennie sigh and mould back against her. She pays extra attention to the shorter hair underneath, earning a pleased hum. “Consider it your reward for getting us here without any trouble.”

Dennie smirks, leaning back into Yaz’s touch. “I have been pretty good, haven’t I?” 

She can hear her girlfriend’s rolling eyes before she even glances over her shoulder to witness them. “Mind your head, Dennie. It might not fit through the door soon.”

“You love me,” Dennie sing-songs in return, wiping her nose when a stream of water dribbles towards the button tip and tickles her faintly freckled skin. Brown eyes soften and she can see Yaz quell a smile at the action. 

Dotting a kiss to her nose just to see her swipe at the ticklish skin again, Yaz murmurs, “Unfortunately, yeah.”

  
  


* * *

Over an abundance of pastries and sweet tarts and fruits, the group of four gather on the balcony in various states of fatigue and excitement. 

While Dennie trades stories from their earlier trips with Rose, Yaz sips leisurely at a fresh glass of lemonade and Bill glares at the side of Dennie’s head. 

Dennie is about to cast her gaze away and ask her what’s up before Bill saves her the trouble.

“Dennie, did you just eat the last cornetti?” Bill interrupts, arms folded atop the table. 

Dennie grimaces for a split second before smirking in silent triumph. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, mate.”

“They’re my favourite — why would you —” 

“Bill, you hid a strapon in the dashboard compartment for border patrol to find when they searched the van,” Dennie deadpans, flicking a crumb across the table and hitting her best friend directly between the eyes. It doesn’t stop her cheeks flushing with the memory. “That was the most embarrassing moment of my whole life.”

“Really? Out of everything you’ve done? Didn’t expect that.” With a barely concealed smirk, Bill nabs the chocolate biscotti Dennie’s had her eyes on for the best part of half an hour and bites down with a distinct lack of remorse. “Consider it a gift, mate. Y’should be thankful,” she mumbles through a mouthful. 

“Oh, my _God_.”

“S’long as you don’t do it in the shower again, anyway. That was the worst kind of alarm clock.”

Lips pursed, Dennie ducks her head and distracts herself in her phone, cheeks burning. “Dunno what you mean.” 

* * *

_@idiotsroamingofficial 17 July 2020 [9:30AM]: day one of our italy trip has begun! the first 100 people to let @pottsbill know she smells will get some free merch - d_

_@pottsbill 17 July 2020 [9:41AM]: i hate it here_

_@pottsbill @denniestan: you smell_

_@pottsbill @fourgaysroxming: i love u but u smell_

_@pottsbill @gaypotts: u smell marry me_

_@denniesmithofficial 17 July 2020 [10:03AM]: its not ‘abusing my power’ its ‘spreading the truth’_

* * *

Dennie lifts her head from her phone with a grin, tossing Yaz a curious look. “Want to know a joke?”

“Sure, babe,” Yaz replies around a sip of her lemonade, propping her feet up in Dennie’s lap. 

Dennie dodges Bill when she passes to fetch a drink from inside but suffers through a ruffle of her hair anyway. She toys with the laces of Yaz’s converse, then the pink socks peeking out from the top. “What’s red and shaped like a bucket?” 

“No idea,” Rose chips in. 

Grinning, Dennie puffs out her chest and smoothes a hand along Yaz’s bare calf. “A red bucket.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Bill groans from inside, “I’m walking home.” 

* * *

“Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“D’you reckon I’d make it into the pool from the balcony?”

“I’d love to see you try, mate.”

“Dennie, _no._ Don’t listen to her.”

“But —”

“Nope. C’mon, we’re heading out. Did you come here to explore the city or to find out how many ways to injure yourself?”

“Fine. You’re right. We can try later instead.”

_“Dennie_.”

* * *

Milan Cathedral at their backs and Yaz’s hand entwined with her own, a sweaty, sun-fatigued Dennie in need of hydration stops dead in her tracks when the urge for cool, fresh water aligns her brain with an epiphany. 

When Bill bumps into her back with a grunt, Dennie turns to address the group. “I just thought of something.”

“Wow,” her best friend gripes, smirking. “How’d it feel, mate?” 

“Leave her alone,” Rose chides in good humour. Dennie trades an amused look with Yaz when instantly, Bill clicks her mouth shut. Rose’s tone softens when she regards Dennie. “What did you come up with, Jayden?” 

* * *

_@idiotsroamingofficial 17 July 2020 [4:00PM]_

**_NEW UPLOAD: HIDE AND SEEK WITH WATER PISTOLS IN MILAN_ **

“I’ve got thirty more pistols in the bag, so we could always ask passers by if they fancy joining in? I’ve always wanted to have a city-wide water fight,” Dennie announces to the group, hands on her hips and water gun holstered to the belt loops of her patchwork shorts. 

Bill draws an armful of water pistols from Dennie’s disposable bag and eyes the surrounding crowds. “Mate, you have really weird goals.”

“‘Least I’m not boring,” Dennie gripes with a grin. 

Bill’s next comeback dies on her lips when Yaz’s perfect aim dribbles a stream of water down her nose and onto her rainbow-striped cami.

Dennie has to quell the need to drop down on one knee. 

“Right, guys. Let’s split up and hide with some confused strangers.”

* * *

A statue of Italy’s first king, Vittorio Emanuele II, provides a solid wall of protection from the rest of the crowds gathered before the cathedral and, being careful to avoid any suspicious, sudden movements, Dennie raises her pistol to her chest in preparation.

She can spot Rose from a short distance away, glued to the wall of a high end clothing shop and furtively taking in her surroundings. 

She’s too slow to react, however, when Dennie sprints forward, water gun raised and trained on the sunglasses balanced atop her blonde hair. Accompanied by Lucia and Romeo — a couple of fans eager to get involved, they take her down with ease. “Sorry, mate, y’were hiding in plain sight.”

Wringing her fringe out of cold water, Rose nudges at her shoulder. “If you stop _shooting_ me with that thing, I’ll let you know where Yaz is hiding.”

Lowering her weapon, Dennie bounces on her toes with renewed excitement. Her tone is mischievous. “Where is she?”

Thirteen paces later, she spots the uncapped end of a lens before the scanning eyes and navy jumpsuit belonging to her girlfriend. 

As though sensing her presence, Yaz glances up from her camera a second too late. 

Smugger than ever, Dennie levels the blue pistol with Yaz’s chest and fires with a smirk. “Gotcha.”

“I was going easy on you,” Yaz drawls back, wiping at the beading water clinging to her collarbones and training the camera on their small group after exchanging greetings with the new additions.

They’re still chattering away when Dennie stops in her tracks at the other side of the grand cathedral, facing a pink baveno granite fountain which displays two sirens riding horseback atop a pair of dolphins. 

Dennie doesn’t have an eye for architecture, however, but rather the dark, curly hair peeking out from behind it. 

“Lower your water pistol and nobody gets hurt,” Dennie calls over the sound of artisan springs. “We’re all trained on you, mate.”

Arms raised in surrender and weapon slung over her thumb, Bill steps out from behind the fountain and turns to face her line-up. 

“Aim and fire, fam. Aim and _fire_.” 

While the others let loose, Dennie jogs up to Bill just to flaunt her win. And while Bill grimaces and rolls her eyes, the blonde uncaps her pistol to pour the rest of her water over her head. “Finally beat you in something, mate. How does it feel?” she quips with a shit-eating grin. 

Dennie is so smug in her boasting that she barely reacts when Bill backs her up with her own water gun raised. She’s bluffing — the pistol is barely full. 

She must be, right?

However, she doesn’t have much more time to think when solid granite greets the backs of her knees and she topples back into cold coppers and wish-filled water with a yelp. 

* * *

“I think I want to get a tattoo,” Dennie announces in a whisper to Bill a change of clothes later and back on Milan’s streets. Ahead, Yaz captures Rose in her natural habitat; through the lens of her camera. “Do you think Yaz would like it?”

“Tattoos are hot, mate. She’d drool over it.”

Cheeks warming and not from the still blazing sun overhead, Dennie toys at the straps of her yellow canvas backpack. It matches the daisies littering her black dungarees and the mustard sports bra beneath. “You think so?”

“Tell you what, I’ll pay for it,” Bill offers, bumping shoulders. “If either one of you don’t like it, you can blame me instead.”

Dennie throws her a suspicious frown, brows knitted. “Wait, you’re being… nice?”

“Once in a lifetime, Dennie. I’d make the most of it while you can,” says Bill in turn, stretching a foot so Dennie trips up on her next step. “Plus, you’ve been on about that tattoo for years. Where better to get it done than in a foreign country with hospital treatment you have to pay for?” 

Ignoring the last comment, Dennie sweeps an arm around Bill’s shoulders and ruffles her curls just to get a rouse out of her friend. “Aw, mate. You’re the best.” 

“Gross, _get off_. You should’ve spent longer washing than getting laid in that shower this morning, Dennie.”

“ _Bill_.”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out. Oi, Yaz! Dennie and I are going to grab some snacks. Meet you at the house in like — half an hour?” 

Dennie beams at the idea. “We’re getting snacks?”

Tilting her head with an indecipherable expression which is usually sent her way when she’s said something dumb, Bill guides them away from the group. “No, you dumbo. We’re getting you tattooed.”

“Then why did —” 

“Please stop talking before I change my mind.”

  
  


* * *

“That was a long time just to get food,” Rose quips from the poolside when Bill and Dennie make their reappearance, the latter slightly stiff in her movements. 

Stepping down from the converted building washed in white, Dennie rounds to the navy sun lounger Yaz has sprawled over and eases herself onto the identical one beside her. 

She should’ve known her girlfriend would notice right away, but it still surprises her when Yaz straightens up with a concerned frown and reaches for Dennie’s scarred thigh to graze her thumb over the subtle dip in her skin. “Sore, babe?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Dennie answers honestly, because she could never lie to those warm brown eyes. She lies back to ease the tension. “But it’s not my leg.” 

“Was it from the fountain? Do I need to have a word with Bill?” 

Laughing, Dennie pats her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Nah. She paid up, anyway.”

“Paid up? Babe, please don’t tell me you got into a wrestling match in public ag—”

Unbuckling her overalls, Dennie peels the material away to expose the clingfilm taped to her hip, peeking out from her waistband. 

“Is that —” 

“Yeah — um, we lied about the snacks. A bit.” 

“You’re something else, babe. Shimmy your shorts down a bit.” 

“No funny business, guys.”

“Piss off, Potts,” Dennie responds with a middle finger raised before she nudges the band of her shorts down and lays the obscured, coloured skin bare to Yaz’s intrigue. 

Yaz’s quiet inspection makes Dennie’s stomach churn with nerves and apprehension and, tentatively, she lifts her gaze to seek her out. “Do you like it?”

The first wonder of the world is Yaz’s smile, and as its target, Dennie’s own grin reappears. The sunflower inked into the skin of her hip feels inferior to the brightness of pearly whites and chestnut eyes. 

Again, she has to resist the urge to sink to one knee. 

“I love it, babe,” Yaz answers in earnest. 

Chest aching and cheeks burning, Dennie ducks her head and scratches at the back of her neck, suddenly shy. “Thanks. It’s — um — I’ve been wanting it for ages. I’m properly glad you like it.”

When she looks back up, Yaz’s gaze has softened and she’s biting down on her knuckles to hold back a doting grin she usually saves for the aftermath of their more intimate moments. 

It does nothing to calm the flares enveloping the space beneath her ribs and, apparently, between her legs.

Drawing her shorts back up but leaving the buckles unshackled so she can soak up the sun over her smooth stomach, Dennie scrunches her nose. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“You’re adorable,” Yaz sighs as though it’s a complaint, climbing onto the lounger beside her and pressing a kiss to her blushing cheek. “It’s kind of annoying.”

When Dennie shuffles up to make room for her, her thigh blooms with protest against the amount of walking they’d done today and she frowns begrudgingly at the limb. 

Wordlessly, Yaz brings a hand to her marred skin and works her fingers against the tense, cramping muscle until Dennie relaxes into her side. 

Would five months together really be too early to propose?

“Thank you,” Dennie whispers against her shoulder instead, taking refuge there while her discomfort subsides. 

* * *

“Is that my jacket?” 

Glancing up from the leather hugging her shoulders in preparation for their evening meal out in the local town, Dennie gnaws at her bottom lip in a guilty smile. “Maybe. That okay?”

“More than,” Yaz murmurs in approval, crooking a brow as she hooks a hooped earring into place, then the other. 

Dennie can’t help the warmth which floods to her cheeks and chest in response, nor the way her pulse trips over itself in a race to the space between her legs.

Straightening out her top; white with her usual rainbow across the chest, Dennie goes in search of her now dried converse with a shy, “Cheers, Yaz.” 

She’s combing her hair up into a ponytail a few minutes later — leaving the shorter layer nearer to the base of her neck on display —when Yaz sucks in a breath and approaches as though lured by a siren. 

Her girlfriend is sporting a denim skirt and a dark green, laced cami and Dennie greedily takes in tanned legs and toned arms as though she’s a Christmas present found early. 

Yaz is the first to break the tense quiet. “Babe, you’re killing me.”

“I’m killing _you?_ ” Dennie quips in surprise, green eyes widening in stubborn disbelief. “Have you seen yourself?” 

Lifting a hand to gesture vaguely to Dennie’s hairstyle, the layered necklace gracing her neck and down to her tight plaid trousers. “You know I love it when you look all —” 

Dennie tilts her head in a move Yaz names _puppy-like_. 

She’s never seen the resemblance herself. 

“Y’know — androgynous. You pull it off proper well, babe,” Yaz explains in open admiration, pupils glistening with something darker and more alluring. She looks like she might jump her bones and Dennie definitely would not mind. 

Dennie restrains herself from closing the distance between them but hooks her fingers through the belt loops of her skirt in the hope she’ll take the hint. “Yeah?”

She does. After a handful of sure steps, Yaz loops her arms around Dennie’s neck and allows her to draw her closer by her hips. “If Rose and Bill weren’t counting on us going, I don’t think I’d let you out of this room.”

Yaz spans her fingers against the side of Dennie’s neck and traces her thumb over her throat when Dennie swallows heavily. The pressure makes her release a high-pitched squeak she’s never going to admit to. 

“Really?” Dennie barely whispers, gaze flitting between brown eyes and full, rouge-painted lips. 

Yaz drops her hand to her hip and ducks her head to seek out her fretting pulse under her tongue as though pinpointing her weak spot in readiness for the killing blow. 

“Really,” she drawls against her skin. 

* * *

“Hey, mate. What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“I am Giuseppe, miss.”

“Giuseppe? That’s a brilliant name. Did you hear that, gang? Amazin’. Thank your parents for me, would you? Anyway, are you up for winning some money for you and your restaurant staff, Giuseppe?” 

“Uh — yes. Yes, of course. What is the catch?” 

“No catch, mate. Well — you’ll be doing more aiming than catching anyway.”

“Dennie, babe, get to it. You’re confusing the whole restaurant.”

“Oh, right. Well — Giuseppe, my friend, if you throw _this_ olive and I catch it in my mouth, you and your staff will get two thousand euros each and a donation to your business. How’s that sound? You think you’re up for the challenge?”

“Two thousand — why are you —”

“‘Cause this is the best pizza I’ve ever eaten and you, Giuseppe, have a _very_ nice bow tie. There’s a lot you can tell about someone from their clothing, and bow ties are _brilliant._ So, Giuseppe, are you up for it?” 

“Yes. I am. Thank you. Oh my gosh.”

“No worries, mate. There you go — oh, watch! It’s a slippery bugger. Right, are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Go for it, Giuseppe. The ball’s in your — the _olive_ ’ _s_ in your court.”

* * *

Dennie bites down around the pickle with a muffled cheer which passes through the restaurant, gleeful waiters abandoning their tasks to fist pump and shriek in giddiness for their win. 

“Congrats, Giuseppe. Excellent aim!”

The greying, trembling man grins, enveloping her in a hug the minute she springs up. “Thank you so much. You are always welcome back here. Thank you. Truly.” 

“It’s my pleasure, sir. Treat yourself to something nice, alright? Do you have a partner? Children?” Dennie quips, swallowed up in the excitement buzzing through the slightly cramped village pizzeria. 

“I have a husband and two children, yes,” he replies in a gentle Italian accent, tears clinging to his eyelids. 

She switches to Italian for the rest of her conversation if only for practice, feeling her girlfriend’s eyes on her throughout. After informing Giuseppe to spend some of the money taking the day off to relax with his family, she grabs her jacket from the back of her chair, pays the bill with a hefty tip, and promises to come back soon before the group turn to leave. 

They’re walking to a popular bar Rose had scouted out earlier, the red-yellow sun kissing the horizon overhead and casting the sky into a technicolour performance of its own. 

Yaz is quiet at her side until Dennie sneaks a hand around her shoulders and drops a kiss to her hairline, breathing in the familiar coconut scent of her shampoo. 

Her girlfriend links her fingers with the ones strung over her shoulder and Dennie levels her gaze just in time to bask in the adoring smile she grants her. “That were really nice — what you did back there.” 

“He _did_ have a great bow tie, Yaz,” Dennie supplies with a matching grin. “What was I supposed to do?”

When Yaz laughs into a narrow, cobbled street in the middle of Milan, her amusement echoes and surrounds them in a glimpse in time Dennie would rather die than miss out on. 

“Still, babe,” Yaz starts, licking her lips when Dennie gnaws at her own in modest embarrassment. “Sometimes I think your heart is infinite.”

“You know what they say about big hearts,” Dennie snickers. “Big heart, big —” 

“Nose!” Bill shouts from up ahead. 

Yaz snorts and quickly stifles it, but it’s too late. 

Dennie scrunches said feature and frowns. “Yaz, do I have a big nose?”

“Babe, don’t listen to her,” Yaz pleads, ambling along into a small courtyard dressed in mosaics. “She’s just winding you up,” she adds with a crook of her brow. 

“Yeah, well… ” Dennie thinks aloud, drawing Yaz over to a sunflower gracing the ground in the middle of the patio.

There’s a plasterer working on a half-finished house just a few metres away and the radio biding their work shifts to a slower tune. Dennie waggles her brows and gives her girlfriend a slow twirl, before slipping her hands into the back pockets of her denim skirt. 

“Either way…” Dennie leans in to ghost their smiling lips together, offering up a cheeky squeeze, then drags her tongue over Yaz’s bottom lip, tasting the sticky, plasticky residue of her red lipstick mixed with the unmistakable sweet tang of _Yaz_ she could never live without. “Penso che tu sia bella.”


	8. the pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the penultimate chapter guys!!
> 
> nsfw warning !!! 
> 
> hope you're all doing okay love u all <3 x

_ @denniesmithofficial 12 August 2020 [2:30AM]: did u know if you rearrange the letters in almalfi coast it spells bills dumb _

_ @denniesmithofficial @denniestan: u could rearrange me ma’am _

_ @denniesmithofficial @pottsbill: think you’ve been drinking too much seawater babes  _

_ @denniesmithofficial @YazKhans: please go to sleep _

_ @pottsbill 13 August 2020 [8:45AM]: tiddies _

_ @denniesmithofficial 13 August 2020 [8:50AM]: guys whats a tiddy???? _

_ @denniesmithofficial @gaysroaming: a boob dennie _

_ @gaysroaming @denniesmithofficial: ??? _

_ @gaysroaming @denniesmithofficial: where?? _

* * *

“Has anyone told you that you look cute yet today, Dennie?”

“Uh — no?”

“I’m not surprised.”

_ “Bill _ . It’s nine in the morning, leave her alone. Dennie, why do you have a glass full of ice cubes?”

“They’re made of coffee.”

“Of course they are.”

“D’you think I should put them in the microwave to help them melt?”

“Wouldn’t that just make regular coffee?”

“ _ No _ , because there’s water — oh. Huh. Yeah, I guess so. Fancy that.” 

A large clock hangs on the feature wall of their Almalfi villa. Even its ticks seem lazy, akin to their humid time abroad.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“No reason, babe.”

“‘Cause you’re a dumbass, mate.”

“It’s just interesting to see how your mind works.”

* * *

_ “How’s everyone doing?” _ Najia murmurs down the line while her father stands firm in an argument with Alexa in the background. 

“We got in late last night, so we’re a bit tired but the villa is  _ stunning _ . You should see the place, mum. It’s insane. We’re right on the coast,” Yaz proclaims with enthusiasm, toying at a loose thread at the hem of her summer dress and relaxing into the mattress with a sigh. The blue shutters on the windows are spread open, dousing the room in light and a breeze just cool enough for it to be comfortable. 

It makes a pleasant change from the stifling, sweaty conditions of the TARDIS in their travels between cities. 

_ “We’ve seen the pictures, love. It looks beautiful. Could you send them to your father and I in our new group chat? Sarah-Jane is in there; I bet she’d love to see what you’re all up to.” _

While the thought of Dennie, Sarah-Jane, Yaz  _ and _ her parents in the same group chat makes her shudder with apprehension — one wrong click is all it takes —- Yaz agrees haplessly. “I will, I promise. How are things at home?”

As her mother fills her in on mindless gossip, Dennie toes past the door and slips into their bedroom with her usual easy grin and just-about quelled energy. 

Yaz motions to the mobile held against her ear and opens her free arm in invitation. 

“Who is it?” Dennie whispers as she clambers onto the bed and flops against Yaz’s side like a worn-out retriever. 

Instead, Yaz slips her fingers through her girlfriend’s hair and scratches clipped nails against her scalp in the way she knows she loves. “Just mum,” she answers under her breath. 

_ “... It was an infestation — nothing I could have caused, and the bloody guy almost had me fired! It’s a good thing Sarah-Jane was there at the time. That woman is a blessing, Yaz. I owe her one.” _

Dennie’s expression falls lax when she thumbs at the space behind her ear, a muffled sound melting against her neck. “Did you hear that, babe?”

“You can’t fire Yaz’s mum,” she hears her mumble before a slim thigh curls over Yaz’s hip and a hand finds the slope of her torso. “That’s illegal.” 

Najia’s laughter rings down the line. _ “Thank you, Dennie. How are you doing, love?” _

“Brilliant. Travelling with Yaz? Amazin’. I love it,” Dennie croons, refusing to lift her head from the safety she’s found tucked against Yaz’s shoulder. She noses at her jaw a second before warm lips find sensitive skin to tend to. 

Yaz’s sigh seeps out quietly enough to go unnoticed. When she turns her head to eye her girlfriend in suspicion, fresh mischief clings to the film coating Dennie’s pupils. 

_ “I’m glad to hear it. What are you all up to today, then? Anything exciting?”  _

Allowing Dennie to explore the expanse of her throat, Yaz only grants her a flutter of her lashes and a questioning glare. “I think we’re just going to have a look around the city, maybe rent a boat and take a trip around the coast. Today’s a vlogging day, so…  _ ah _ —” she hisses away the rest of her sentence when Dennie suddenly bites down and coaxes goosebumps to the surface. 

Yaz narrows her brows at Dennie in a way which shouts  _ what the hell are you playing at? _ But all she gets back by way of response is a dangerous mix of innocence and debauchery. Warmth floods to her gut and she slips her hand back into Dennie’s hair. 

_ “Yaz? Is everything alright?”  _ Najia’s concerned tone drags her back to the present. 

“Go on,” Dennie whispers, lips brushing the curve of her ear.

Yaz curls her fingers through blonde locks more securely, giving Dennie a warning tug. “Yeah, just stubbed my toe. Sorry, what was I saying?” 

However much the action should have made her wane, Yaz’s hold in Dennie’s hair works the complete opposite way.

Grunting into her earlobe, Dennie brandishes the shell of it with a hot tongue. 

_ “Something about blogging, love?” _

“ _ Vlogging _ ,” Yaz corrects, throat dry. “Uh — yeah, so I’ll be mostly filming; getting some photos to post on our social media; that sort of stuff.” 

When a curious palm follows the edge of her bralette through the skimpy material of her dress and an equally inquisitive mouth glides down her throat, Yaz breathes slowly through her nose to calm the way her nerves jolt to attention. 

Despite how much she’d rather end the call right away and divulge her girlfriend of the smug expression currently pressed against the base of her neck, Yaz forges forward. 

“What about you and dad? Are you doing anything interesting today?”

Dennie is thriving on this; she can tell by the way she slips a thigh between her own and presses as close as possible to continue her teasing touches. 

Yaz draws her head back with a pull of messy blonde hair and Dennie’s jaw slackens with a muted sigh, her half-lidded pupils dark and glossy but not with sleep. “What are you doing?” she hisses, her free hand holding her phone aloft. 

“Nothing,” Dennie supplies, wetting her lips and shifting atop her. She’s trying to press her thighs together but instead closes them around Yaz’s own. Yaz’s faint grunt mirrors hers. 

_ “Not really. Your sister has a date, though, with your old friend from school. Grace’s grandson? D’you remember?” _

Eyes still glaring holes in Dennie’s innocent facade, Yaz furrows her brows and drops her hand to her side. “Wait — she’s seeing Ryan? Ryan Sinclair?”

_ “Yes, love. They’ve been talking since you left for the trip,”  _ Najia informs her and, well, there’s no surprises there. 

Yaz makes a note to disinfect every surface of her shared flat as soon as she returns home. “Of course they have.”

Apparently feeling left out, Dennie closes a palm around her breast and thumbs at a soft nub, her chin coming to rest against her sternum. 

This time, other than taking a shaky inhale, Yaz elects to ignore her. 

_ “What’s that supposed to mean?”  _

“Nothing, mum.”

Dennie’s impatient huff is adorable and, holding back a smirk, Yaz fakes a yawn in faux-disinterest. “Have you seen the flat recently? I bet it looks like a bomb’s hit it by now.” 

Najia chuckles and the sound of a boiling kettle sounds down the line. She can imagine her mother pottering around the kitchen with her phone propped against her shoulder while her father picks a fight with his newest piece of technology with ease. 

Her thoughts fall flat, however, when a smooth palm finds her thigh and inches beneath the hem of her dress. 

“Yaz,” Dennie whines quietly, every inch needy and pouting and serving as ignition to Yaz’s core. 

Yaz hushes her with a palm to her cheek, her thumb brushing Dennie’s jutting bottom lip. Her skin is smooth to the touch and, like a happy puppy, Dennie nestles into her hold and laps skittishly at her pursuing digit. 

Swallowing thickly, Yaz zones back in on the conversation at hand. Luckily, her mother has a knack for one-sided conversation, so she’s mid-way through revealing work gossip when Yaz narrows her focus again. 

_ “... And apparently, she didn’t tell anyone she was going for a higher position, so when they found out she was getting the finance job, I couldn’t stay in the office for more than five minutes; there was too much tension. Honestly, Yaz — it’s a blessing being the manager just so I don’t have to worry about all that.” _

At the same time as Dennie releases her thumb with a wet  _ pop _ , Yaz’s dress bunches over a wandering hand and seeks out the dampened material of her underwear with ease. “ _ Yaz _ ,” Dennie breathes in awe, eyes dark and jaw trembling. 

She’s always shocked to see how much Yaz is affected by her and this time is no different, as much as Yaz is training her out of it. 

Parting her thighs to welcome her touch, Yaz can’t help her ensuing sigh. 

_ “Okay, love?”  _ Najia queries through her receiver, worry lacing her tone. 

Stomach jolting when two fingers quickly locate her clit and press firmly, Yaz disguises her grunt behind a cough. “Yeah, sorry. Think I might be coming down with a cold.”

Alarmed, Dennie glances up from her chest and pauses the deft workings of her fingers with a frown. 

“You don’t feel well?” she mouths. 

Debating the brain-cell-to-vacant ratio of her girlfriend’s brain, Yaz rolls her eyes and shakes her head, hips twitching against still digits. 

_ “Drink lots of water, sweetheart. Take it easy.” _

“I will, promise. But mum? I’m gonna have to go. Everyone’s ready to leave,” Yaz lies, still on the receiving end of Dennie’s dumbfounded confusion. “I love you.”

“Alright, Yaz. Keep in touch and let us know when you’re both home safe. I love you too.” 

The assumption that Dennie is now a part of her home — and indeed, that her mother is the first to make it — warms her from her head to her toes. She casts doe eyes Dennie’s way while her heart tumbles over itself. “I will, mum. See you!”

Yaz barely gets through her mother’s responding goodbyes before hanging up and tossing her phone aside. 

“I’m fine, babe. It were just — I was covering my back since you had your hand between my legs,” Yaz reels with a groan, flopping back against the mattress and reaching for Dennie’s retracted hand. She slips it back beneath the skirt of her dress and raises her hips in request. “Now, are you gonna finish what you started or am I going to have to do it myself?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dennie croons, shuffling up to better straddle her thigh and delve past the boundary of her underwear. 

“Off,” Yaz grunts when two fingers find her core and gather up blossoming wetness within the confines of her lacy knickers. “Babe, take them off.”

Hushing her, Dennie draws herself back to figure out a different plan of attack. 

Yaz clenches her jaw and sits on the verge of telling her to hurry up before her dress flits about her waist and when she looks down, Dennie has latched her teeth around the fabric of her underwear. With a devilish smirk, she drags the material down her thighs and casts them aside. 

“Saw that in a film once,” Dennie informs her as she flops onto her stomach between her legs and finally laps her tongue through her damp folds. She hums like a puppy given a fresh bowl of water and circles her entrance with two slick fingers, all while holding her gaze.

Yaz sweeps a hand down to twist through sun-bleached blonde locks, the other curling in the white covers at her side. She sighs out her reply, lashes fluttering. “You watch too many old romance movies, babe.” 

Dennie closes her lips around her clit and flicks her tongue over the swollen pearl of her pleasure with a gruff hum; it’s the same noise she makes when she’s ravaging for food and eats her meal too fast. Yaz shivers at the ego boost it serves her, hips rolling in open encouragement. 

Her girlfriend is happily dedicated to her task from the get-go, languid laps alternating with quick, pursuing swirls and wriggles of her tongue. 

“You taste amazing,” Dennie moans a short few licks later, drunk and hazy with their combined arousal. It feels and sounds like the blonde’s actions are just as effective as if Yaz were to tackle her against the sheets and duck her own head between Dennie’s thighs. 

Dennie’s a talented puppeteer of every single one of Yaz’s strings and she is helpless to halt her toying motions. 

Clipped nails dragging across the smooth layer of shorter hair at the base of Dennie’s neck, Yaz hooks her thighs over her girlfriend’s shoulders and digs her heels into her clothed back, stomach muscles twitching. 

“I need more,” Yaz gasps when Dennie’s hungry laps work her up fast, but not in the intense, mind-numbing way extra stimulation offers. Scratching her nails in a way which draws a purr to the surface of Dennie’s working tongue, Yaz sighs, “Baby, I need your fingers.”

A people-pleaser to her core, Dennie slips a hand from her hip to her core, faltering only a second to assuage a pleasing angle before plunging two fingers into welcoming heat. Her gaze darts north to gauge Yaz’s reaction, the tip of her tongue circling lazily over her clit. “Better?”

“Perfect _ , _ ” Yaz mewls, head falling back against plush pillows. She makes a note to keep her noises restrained considering their shared villa space, so clamps her teeth down on her fist with the next flood of pleasure to her gut. “You’re doing amazing. I love your hands,” she grits out through the bridge of her knuckles. 

“I know,” Dennie purrs against her skin, accompanied with a self-satisfied smirk Yaz can  _ feel _ pressed to her clit.

She doesn’t refute her, though; then she’d be lying. 

Talented fingers crooking and curling between slick walls, Dennie mouths at her with renewed vigour. 

Yaz can feel eyes on her when her girlfriend’s breaths turn shaky and when she looks down to glimpse the reason for Dennie’s quiet whimpers, she catches the rise of her hips. Free hand tucked between her own legs, the blonde seemingly gets herself off at the same rate. 

If she wasn’t teetering so close to the edge herself, Yaz would have something to say about that. 

Instead, she can only muffle a groan and cant her hips to chase her fluid movements. “I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” Dennie pants, squirming into her own palm. 

Yaz brushes her thumb along the curve of her ear and she positively  _ whines _ against her flesh, needy for more. 

Her sensitivity is what brings Yaz off with not a moment’s notice, brows pinching and stomach muscles tightening while she grinds clumsily into Dennie’s onslaught. “ _ Dennie _ ,  _ fuck _ ,” Yaz cries out, fingers curling in longer strands to keep her in place through pulses of blissful euphoria. 

Her grip goes both ways, clearly, when Dennie’s head falls against her hip and she jerks into her own hand with a high-pitched whimper. 

Barely gathered from her own orgasm, Yaz gives Dennie’s hair a tug to draw her attention up. Dazed eyes lift and Dennie’s jaw falls. Yaz wets her lips. “Hold it. And take your shorts and boxers off.”

Pliant, Dennie slips from between her thighs on wobbly knees and flops back against the covers to wriggle her bottoms off like a child eager to jump into a swimming pool. 

Sighing through the remaining shocks of electricity through her system, Yaz reaches for another pillow to place below her head and raise her position. When Dennie straddles her hips, breathless and desperate and seconds from bliss, Yaz taps the material either side of her head. “C’mere.”

“Oh, you mean…” Dennie breathes in comprehension, rising up on her haunches and scrambling up to her chin. She hovers there, unsure, until strong hands curl around her backside and guide her down to Yaz’s waiting mouth. 

Yaz gets to work right away, pleasantly surprised when she finds her so wet that she has to race a bead of arousal down the inside of her thigh with her tongue. She licks her tongue through her folds and gathers her up before delving it past luring folds. 

Dennie is vocal at the best of times but, well-trained during their group travels, she bites down on her bottom lip and breathes harshly through her nose instead. Any moans she does emit break up into faint hums at the back of her throat. 

Yaz can tell that one brush of her thumb against her aching clit will derail her, so, mapping her out under her tongue and thrusting the strong muscle at a quickening pace, she takes her sweet time over her pleasure. 

“Yaz, please,” Dennie gripes a moment later, one hand fisted in Yaz’s hair while she slips the other down towards the apex of her thighs. “I need it.”

Yaz halts her tongue mid-thrust and, in a new move she conducts without thinking, claps a hand against Dennie’s backside, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare.”

“Sorry! Sorry, Yaz,” Dennie squeaks but the fresh rush of arousal coating Yaz’s taste buds tells her she ought to try that approach out more often. 

At the same time as Dennie swipes her hand away to join the other in her long locks, Yaz squeezes her newly reddened cheek and noses at her clit. “This is  _ my _ job, babe.”

Dennie nods, jaw slackening and grip tightening the closer she gets to her pleading nub. Under Yaz’s encouragement, she rocks her hips in jerky, clumsy motions from her bottom lip to the tip of her nose, thighs rock solid against her ears. 

“Yaz, I love you,” the blonde whispers seconds later, and, really, what’s Yaz to do other than latch onto her clit and suck ravenously until Dennie clamps down around her head and flutters around her tongue with a cry. 

She’s such a cheat. 

Yaz spells out her name three more times before Dennie falls slack and whimpers between breaths from oversensitivity. 

Only once she slumps down beside her does Yaz nudge at her shoulder with a pout. 

“You little — you can’t use that against me every time, babe. You know it catches me out,” Yaz huffs, folding her arms. 

She ignores the way Dennie rolls onto her side and slinks an arm around her waist with a giggle until her girlfriend’s lips land against her cheek, her temple, then the tip of her nose in a playful fashion. “ _ Yaz _ ,” she sings with a toothy grin, “Not my fault you’re secretly a softie.”

“I am  _ not _ soft.” Yaz’s brows furrow but Dennie simply kisses the creases away, untangling Yaz’s crossed arms so she can manipulate her hands into cupping her cheeks. “What are you doing?”

“Gazing into your eyes,” Dennie breathes like a character from a Shakespeare play, “Now will you let me kiss you? That’s usually how it goes, right?”

Yaz presses her lips into a firm line and huffs through her nose. “Nope.”

Dennie’s dramatic gasp would be hilarious if not for the fact Yaz is Very Annoyed At Her. Playfully shoving her aside, Yaz shuffles to the edge of the bed and draws her dress back down over her hips. “I’m going for a shower.”

“ _ Yaz _ ,” Dennie whines in disappointment, scrambling off the side of the bed in just her rainbow t-shirt and pink socks with little green aliens scattered over them. 

Yaz’s hand is on the door to their ensuite when a strong arm loops around her hips and spins her around. 

Dennie always gets her way and this occasion is no different. Tipping her chin up with two fingers, she meets her lips with a sigh; like she’s been devoid of her taste for years rather than mere minutes. 

Yaz indulges her when Dennie slips her tongue past her lips and presses closer, moulding to her form in a perfect fit. She slips her palms from her waist to her backside and squeezes if only to coax a squeak from the back of her throat. 

She’s about to disparage the notion of showering and take her back to bed when the door swings open and Bill steps inside unannounced. 

“Guys, are you ready to go soon—” Bill reels, eyes on her mobile until she picks up on the atmosphere and glances up. Suddenly, she covers her eyes with her palm and yelps. “Oh my _God,_ I can’t believe I’ve just seen your bare ass. Put some pants on, Dennie, you’re a grown woman.”

_ “Bill!” _

* * *

_ @denniesmithofficial 13 August 2020 [11:14AM] when u turn around worms use shovels to dig into the earth. they dont do it themselves. where are their hands? theyre big fat liars. _

_ @denniesmithofficial @tylersofficial: i cant believe u made us stop the car just to tweet this _

_ @denniesmithofficial @YazKhans: babe if they don’t have hands how do they hold their shovels??? _

_ @YazKhans @denniesmithofficial: tongue _

_ @pottsbill 13 August 2020 [7:49PM]: remember to pee after sex so you don’t get an imdb _

_ @denniestan 13 August 2020 [8:02PM]: do u stan people with less braincells than a pencil shaving or are u normal <3 _

_ @denniesmithofficial 13 August 2020 [9:25PM] vegetables are great to eat when ur hungry and want to stay that way  _

_ @denniesmithofficial @SJSmith78: Eat your greens sweetheart!! Keep your energy levels up !! xx love Mum.,.  _

_ @denniesmithofficial @yasminkhxns: yeah dennie eat your greens  _

_ @denniesmithofficial @billpottsfan: listen to ur mum dennie x _

_ @denniesmithofficial @denniestan: did u get my adoption papers @SJSmith  _

* * *

“That’s well weird,” Bill announces around her paper straw, phone in hand. Her cocktail — a pina colada — serves as an apology gift for the scene she’d witnessed that morning. 

Gaze flitting from the curving coastline to her friend, Yaz pinches her brows. “What’s up?”

Beside her, Dennie slurps noisily at her drink, too engrossed in conversation with Rose to notice her sugary gin has dissipated from the bottom of her glass. 

“Think it’s true what they say about mobile phones,” Bill starts, flicking the end of her straw in Dennie’s direction to either garner her attention or confuse her — Yaz is’t quite sure. “Remember earlier, when I was talking about getting a new camera for self-tapes? Well, I just got a load of adverts for one. And in the words of one  _ handsome _ Hakim Khan…”

“It’s a  _ conspiracy _ ,” Yaz answers with rolling eyes. 

At the same time, Dennie chokes on a piece of frayed paper straw and turns in a flash. “‘Di’ some’n say conspiracy?”

After two more vodka and cokes on Yaz’s part, she makes her way back to the table with a fresh drink. 

While Rose snags her attention to ask about her next shoot, she hones in on Bill and Dennie’s whispered conversation and the sight of her phone clutched in Dennie’s hand, inches from her face. 

“Talking to yourself again, mate?” 

Dennie starts, almost dropping the device in the process. “Wh — no. Dunno what you’re on about.” 

“That’s Yaz’s phone.”

“Oh, is it? Must’ve picked the wrong one up. Silly me.”

“Y’were saying the word  _ strap-on _ on repeat into her mic, Dennie. You aren’t subtle.”

“ _ Bill _ .”

Bill snorts at the way embarrassment reddens Dennie’s cheeks and Yaz works hard to keep her oblivious facade up. 

“Just ask her to get one, dumbo. I really doubt she’d say no.”

“Are you hearing this?” Rose pipes up quietly from Yaz’s side. Yaz sends her a smirk and a nod and she simpers. “That’s evil, Yaz. Put the poor kid out of her misery.”

“I can’t just — I can’t just  _ ask Yaz to buy a dildo.” _

Bill grins, self-assured. “Yeah, you can.”

Brushing a hand along the back of her girlfriend’s shoulder, Yaz returns to her place at Dennie’s side. She’s coy to the heat emanating from Dennie’s face when she addresses her. “Ask me to buy what, babe?”

Fidgeting in her seat and stumbling over her words, Dennie takes the clueless approach. “Huh? Oh— the next round? You can take my card. Don’t think the lights inside like me very much. Givin’ me a headache.”

Bill’s unquelled, tipsy laughter is the only warning Dennie gets before she blurts, “And a  _ massive _ st—” 

But Dennie is fast to close her palm around her mouth and cringe, the tips of her ears glowing with heat. 

Yaz flutters her lashes in question. “A massive what?”

“Tip! A massive tip, please, Yaz. This place is brilliant,” Dennie all but pleads, desperate to find another trail of conversation which won’t expose her to the rest of the bar as some kind of sex fiend. Bless her. “Anyway, have you seen the view? Amazin’, isn’t it?”

Taking mercy, Yaz curls her arm around the back of Dennie’s chair and kisses her temple. Her eyes are on her bright red cheeks — mostly caused by sunburn — when she indulges in the change in topic. “Yeah, it is.” 

Two bars and a handful of fruity cocktails later, Bill and Yaz snicker through an edit which loops a video of Dennie falling over to the chorus of  _ Hollerback Girl.  _

“I think we should have it playing in the background at her birthday party next week,” Bill snorts, wiping her cheeks free of humoured tears. 

Yaz shakes her head but can’t deny the idea does make her smile. “She’s going to kill you.” 

The conversation comes to a natural lull when the sea breaks against the rocky shore just shy of the terrace they’ve inhabited, the light breeze cool but nothing compared to the burn of alcohol through their systems. 

It takes something altogether different to churn at the tides in the pit of Yaz’s stomach and leave her dithering at the shore like a beaching starfish. 

“Um — about the party,” she starts, condensation dampening her fingers where they curl around the slope of her glass. She glimpses the base of her ring finger on her left hand and takes a breath while Bill watches on, rapt. “I think I might —” 

“Yaz?” Rose pipes up from the entrance to the bohemian-themed bar, pulling Yaz from her revelation with a start. 

“Yeah?”

“Your girlfriend is crying in the restroom,” she informs with the hint of a smile. 

Rose’s lax nature doesn’t stop Yaz bolting to her feet even while the terrace spins about her and the blonde holds back laughter. 

Yaz steadies herself before stepping towards the arched entrance, Bill already on her heels. Her stomach clenches unpleasantly but she can’t decide if it’s the alcohol in her bloodstream or concern as she leads the way inside. “What happened? Is she okay?” 

Rose stumbles after them with warm cheeks. “She’s fine. She’s just — uh, she said it’s because she loves you so much. Think she’s goners, mate. Probably shouldn’t have had that last round of shots.”

While Yaz’s heart eases off on its persistent drumbeat, Bill cracks up and holds her phone at the ready. “Again? Oh, my God _ ,  _ I _ have  _ to see this _. _ ” 

Deciding not to probe into Bill’s  _ again _ , Yaz nudges the door to the restroom open to find Dennie leant against the sink with blotchy pink cheeks and teary hazel eyes. 

“ _ Yaz _ ,” the blonde sighs on instinct, tripping over her own converse-clad feet to throw herself against Yaz’s chest and wind her arms around her waist. “Y’know I ‘ove you, righ’?” she muffles into her shoulder where she sets up home and refuses to shift. 

“I love you too, babe,” Yaz snickers against the top of her head while she regains her balance. “You okay?”

To their shared benefit, Bill becomes too busy faking a gag to record Dennie’s drunken state. 

Sniffling through another wave of tears, Dennie clings tighter. “Better now you’re here.”

“This would be so much more adorable if y’weren’t drooling on Yaz’s shoulder, mate.”

“Bill! Shut up. I think it’s cute,” Rose interjects from the doorway, tilting her head with a tipsy grin. 

“ _ It  _ is definitely the right way to describe her, yeah.”

* * *

After losing feeling in her legs from holding Dennie in her lap for the remainder of their time at the bar, then straining them to their limits giving her a piggyback home, Yaz is  _ extremely _ grateful to drop Dennie’s dead weight atop their bed at the end of the night. 

“Can you stay awake long enough to drink some water with me, babe?”

“Maybe,” Dennie grumbles into their crumpled sheets, mouth hanging open and eyes closed in a picture of inebriated exhaustion. 

Yaz gives in to a laugh at the sight of her. “Well, you’re going to have to.” She taps her foot. “And take your shoes off.”

“Wha’ ‘bout the rest?” 

Rolling her eyes, Yaz unlaces her girlfriend’s yellow converse just to make it easier for her before stepping away. “I’ll be right back.”

She’s not alone when she slips into the kitchen and fetches two glasses from the cupboard beside the sink. Their open-plan kitchen means it’s easy for them to navigate even in the dim light of the early hours. 

“Is she alive?” Bill prompts, halfway through her own pint of water. Rose is draped over her side, arms slinked around her hips and face tucked into her neck. It’s the first time she’s seen them so openly affectionate and, smiling despite herself, she sets about filling up their drinks. 

“Just about,” Yaz divulges, taking a parched sip past her lips and rewarding her protesting liver. As though the water provides clearance, she turns back with a thoughtful frown. “Bill, what did you mean when you said  _ again _ , earlier?”

After passing her pint glass towards the blonde stuck to her side and encouraging her to take a sip, Bill breaks into a smile. “Your twenty-first, Yaz. She was in the same state after that whole bathtub situation. I had to ring Sarah-Jane just to find out how to turn her crying button off.”

“No way,” Yaz breathes, wide-eyed. “Seriously?”

“Yep. While you were passed out in the bathtub, I was feeding her biscuits and wiping your sick off her shirt.” 

“Didn’t need that visual, Bill,” Rose complains, stomach growling but not for food. 

“Well, thanks, in hindsight,” Yaz chuckles, earning a salute from her best mate. “I’d better get back to her majesty. Make sure you drink enough water, guys.”

“Yes, mum,” they answer in unison. Yaz shakes her head and pads back to their blue-doored room. 

To her pleasant surprise, Dennie has dressed down to her boxers and a _NASA_ t-shirt by the time Yaz returns with their water. Closing the door behind her, she slips into a pair of pyjama shorts and taps Dennie’s shoulder. “Wakey-wakey, babe. I’ve got you a drink.” 

“A drink?” Dennie pipes up with a mischievous smirk. “What kind of drink?”

“It’s just —” Yaz pauses, debating her approach. “It's vodka and lemonade, babe.”

Plucking the blue striped glass from her hold, Dennie takes a testing sip. 

She’s either still drunk enough she can’t decipher the difference or her brain cells are in single digits, but she gulps down the water like some kind of parched child nevertheless. Accompanied by a satisfied smack of her lips, Dennie’s grin broadens. “That were delicious. Thanks, Yaz.”

Yaz laughs, peeling back the sheets and setting Dennie’s emptied glass aside. “No problem, babe, it were as easy as turning the tap on,” she supplies as she clambers onto the plush mattress and turns out the bedside lamp. “C’mere.”

Like a bee to lavender, Dennie sprawls over Yaz’s chest to better absorb her nutrients and surround herself in her scent. 

Squished between the mattress and Dennie’s koala-grip, Yaz takes a breath and resigns herself to her potentially suffocating death. 

“Yaz?”

Arms secured around Dennie’s waist, Yaz turns her head to let her lips come to rest against her temple. “Yeah?”

“Do you think ants have feelings?”

“Dennie?”

“Yeah?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Do you think they can fall in love?” 

“ _ Babe _ .” 

Dennie giggles, misplacing Yaz’s cheek with her hand and earning herself a squeak when she pokes her in the eye. “Would you still love me if I was an ant?”

Yaz narrows her brows at her in the dark. “Not really into that kind of stuff, if I’m honest.”

_ “Yaz _ ,” Dennie whines. She sounds close to tears and Yaz’s head jerks up. “You wouldn’t love me if I was an ant?”

“Babe, don’t cry,” Yaz sighs, quelling laughter. “Would you still love me if  _ I _ were an ant?”

Dennie’s response comes without hesitation despite the fatigue lacing it. “‘Course I would. You’d be the prettiest ant of them all. I’d make you a little house and an obstacle course and a gym. And I’d get you the best snacks on the planet.” She pauses, considering. “Can ants get gains?”

During Dennie’s loud thinking process, Yaz foolishly allows her eyes to close and her senses to settle. 

Her blissful ignorance doesn’t last long. 

Fidgeting fingertips find Yaz’s shoulder and cheek and Dennie shifts atop her, steady breaths falling in a breeze against her lips. “Yaz, are you awake?”

“No.”

From above, Dennie snickers. “Do you want to sleep on the balcony?”

“Wh— really? Right now?” 

“Yes?”

Yaz opens her eyes and squints through the dark to take in Dennie’s giddy expression. The thought of sleeping outside doesn’t faze her; it’s more so having to drag herself out of bed when her head pounds and her eyes sting. 

When Dennie flutters her lashes and tilts her head like the puppy she inhibits, Yaz has no choice. 

“Fine. But only if you promise to make me breakfast in the morning.” 

A firm, clumsy kiss is pressed to her lips before Dennie sweeps from the bed in a flash. “We can make a fort!” 

Another half an hour, two glasses of water and a near-topple from the balcony later, Yaz settles in as the big spoon behind her appeased girlfriend. 

Brushing a kiss against the back of her neck, she sinks into her. “Happy now?”

“Brilliant. Thanks, Yaz.” 

“I’d say  _ any time _ , but I don’t want to see you almost fall off a balcony again.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Could’ve sworn a blanket would be just as effective as a parachute.”

“No, babe. No.” 

  
  


* * *

_ @idiotsroamingofficial 14 August 2020 [7:00PM]  _ **_NEW UPLOAD: QUICKFIRE QUESTIONS WITH DENNIE AND BILL_ **

“Ready, mate?” Bill quips, disguising her headache behind a pair of dark sunglasses. 

They’re perched beside the pool under the shade of a blue and white striped umbrella. While Rose lounges in an inflatable ringed doughnut, earphones plugged into her ears and eyes closed, Yaz stands just shy of their garden chairs, flirting the camera between them with well-practised ease. 

“I were born ready,” Dennie confirms, tipping her yellow bucket hat forward in exaggerated courtesy. She claps her hands together and Bill winces. “Hit me with the questions, Bill.”

“Alright. First one; Is cereal soup? Why or why not?” 

“Yes, because it gets all mushy. Anything mushy is soup. That’s the law.” 

Bill grimaces. “What’s invisible but you wish people could see?”

“Farts.”

“Congratulations, you’re a child. How do you feel about putting pineapple on pizza?”

Dennie’s stomach grumbles with intent and Yaz makes a note to search up pizza places nearby. 

“I love it. Even better with ketchup on top and a  _ pinch _ of maple syrup.” 

Quickly, she cancels those plans. 

“If animals could talk, which would be the rudest?” Bill continues with an apprehensive frown.

“Cats, one hundred percent. They hate me.” 

“They don’t hate you, mate. They probably just don’t appreciate having some mad lady running at them as soon as they show themselves. You’ve got to treat them like royalty, Dennie. Like you’re inferior.”

“They hate me.”

“Alright,” Bill compromises. “Toilet paper; over or under?”

Dennie’s confusion is audible. The bridge of her nose scrunches and Yaz takes the opportunity to zoom in on her features. “Why would you put toilet paper on your head?”

At the same time as Yaz breaks into laughter behind the camera, Bill’s forehead collides with her palm. 

After a freshly opened bottle of  _ Fruit Shoot  _ on Dennie’s front and a lengthy explanation, Bill soldiers on. “What would be the absolute worst name you could give your child?” 

Dennie captures her bottom lip between her teeth to fight a smirk and Yaz readies the focus on Bill. 

“Bill.” 

Bill barely winces although there’s a challenge in her eyes. “Favourite sight you’ve seen on your travels?” 

“Yasmin Khan.” 

“How many times have you been injured as a direct result of your own lack of brain cells?” 

“ _ Excuse you.”  _ Dennie folds her arms but averts her gaze from the camera to mumble her answer. “But — um, probably about thirteen.”

“What's the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“A slug. Proper slimy, those buggers. Wouldn’t recommend it.” 

Bill gawps, gaze tracking back to Yaz. “And you  _ kiss _ the mouth that did that, babes?” 

“I’m cutting that bit out,” Yaz groans. 

“What are you most afraid of?”

“A biscuit shortage.” 

Bill adjusts her shirt and brushes a patch of invisible dust from her shoulder. “What’s your best friend’s name?”

“Canine,” Dennie drawls. 

Bill’s hurt is obvious. “Favourite band?” 

“Coldplay.” 

“What makes you smile?” 

“Yasmin Khan.” 

Bill blows out her cheeks and fakes a shiver. “Gross. One last question; swimming pool or bushes?”

Cheeks flushing and eyes bolting to Yaz in alarm, Dennie infers her question as a different and more intimate kind altogether, “Uh — swimming pool, obviously.” 

And she remains oblivious until suddenly, she is not. 

Her eyes widen at the same time as her feet no longer touch the ground with Bill to blame.

Dennie lands in the water with a yelp and a resounding splash, but, as always, makes for a  _ brilliant _ video. 

Yaz might be a little biased about that, though. 

* * *

_ @denniestan 14 August 2020 [7:31PM] can the outros always finish with dennie being dropped into a swimming pool please god bless _

_ @pottsbill 14 August 2020 [7:43PM] she chose a dog over me she deserved a dunking  _

_ @gaysroxming 14 August 2020 [7:46PM] yaz and dennie content we are being fed so well today _

_ @yasminkhxns 14 August 2020 [8:09PM] thinking about dennies arms  _

_ @YazKhans 14 August 2020 [9:24PM] @denniesmithofficial got her revenge x  _ **_[video attached: it displays Bill asleep on a lounger in the evening sun. Her eyebrows have been dyed a shade of blue. When the camera flips, Yaz, Dennie and Rose are seen holding back laughter]._ **

_ @YazKhans @denniesclxwn: oh my GOD  _

_ @YazKhans @foxrgayidiots: thank u for the serotonin boost gays _

_ @YazKhans @pottsbill: i hate all three of u  _

_ @denniesmithofficial 14 August 2020 [9:32PM] it’s the brows for me @pottsbill <3 _

_ @denniesmithofficial @pottsbill: prick  _


	9. the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand here's the last chapter!!!! i really hope it doesn't disappoint because this chapter really feels like some of my weakest writing so far <3 and that's the tea. 
> 
> but also i'd like to thank yall for all your comments and kudos, it really means a lot to me that you even read this trash let alone leave a comment for me to come back to !!!
> 
> lastly, i hope you're all staying safe during this time and furthermore, enjoy !!!!!

“Is this a sex thing?” 

“ _ Dennie _ , I’m recording.”

“Oops. Yaz, am I being kidnapped? Are you blindfolding me so you can cut me up and feed me to your exotic pet?”

“I don’t have any pets.” 

“As if anyone would want to kidnap you, Dennie.”

“Shut up, Bill.”

_ “Shut up, Bill.” _

“Bill, stop annoying her.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Dennie, step to your right.”

“Ow!” 

“I said  _ right _ , babe.” 

“Yeah?”

“You just jumped forward. Into the wall.”

“Yaz, I can’t see. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Just let Bill guide you.”

“Y’think I trust her?”

“You have a point. Rose, d’you mind?”

“Oi! Rude.” 

A clatter sounds behind the door and Dennie stiffens, head cocked to one side. 

“Did you guys hear that? Is there someone in my apartment?”

“Must be a ghost, mate.” 

“Ignore her, Dennie. Bill, shut up and open the door.”

Another shuffle and Dennie clings to the closest thing she can find. Her hand curls around Rose’s wrist and she squeaks in fright as the door to her apartment clicks open. 

But as soon as she’s guided inside with a hand at her back, Rose slips from her hold and three pairs of footsteps step aside. 

“Guys?” Dennie chuckles, nervousness drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. She can’t even sense Yaz’s body nearby. The apartment is silent. Strangely, though, a waft of her mother’s lavender perfume greets her nostrils. “Guys, s’this a prank? What’s going on?”

“I’m going to take my mask off, now,” she adds when no response comes. “Just in case you’ve got something to throw at me. Please don’t get it in my eyes this time.”

The instant she peels her blindfold away, however, the apartment erupts with cheers and laughter and grinning faces. 

From behind her camera, Yaz’s features soften into an affectionate grin. “Happy birthday, Dennie,” she murmurs in unison with the crowd of familiar faces gathered in Dennie’s open kitchen diner. 

Balloons and banners and birthday decorations litter her flat in colour and, shocked to silence, Dennie lets Bill shove her into the group. 

Sarah-Jane is the first to reach out, enveloping her in a warm, squeezing hug like those she’d earnt after a particularly badly scraped knee or a tough school day. “Happy birthday, Jayden.”

After scrunching her nose through a doting kiss to the cheek, Dennie turns back to the crowd of friends and family — she catches eyes with John, in particular, and sends them familiar daggers. There’s a kid standing with their hands shoved deep into their pockets just behind them who she quickly deciphers as her mother’s newest foster child, Luke. She’s only seen him in photos so far, so she’s eager to introduce herself as soon as she can.

“Who’s idea was this?” Dennie poses in the meantime. 

Najia, whom she spots flitting warm eyes between her and Yaz, spares a knowing smile to her daughter. Bill and Rose turn Yaz’s way, too, and Dennie finds her answer instantly. 

Shrugging a modest shoulder, Yaz lowers her camera momentarily. “C’mon, we  _ all _ know you love a party.”

“And it’s an excuse to get  _ absolutely _ shitface—”

“ _ Bill Potts.” _

“Ah, sorry, Miss Smith.”

As expected, Bill shoots her a wink. 

Dennie just about holds back a retch. 

* * *

“Happy birthday, idiot,” John announces a short time later, ruffling Dennie’s hair and coaxing an irritated grunt from her throat. 

Dennie tames her tousled locks with a frown. “Didn’t think you’d come to this kind of thing.”

“Neither did I. Your girlfriend wouldn’t take no for an answer, though,” they answer with raised brows. A flood of something indecipherable wraps around Dennie’s heart. “Fair play, kid. You did good.”

“It’s just a shame you’re punching so high above your weight,” they add in hindsight. 

“Shut up.”

“I’m joking.” John reaches past her, plucking up a box coated in starry wrapping paper. “This is for you. Don’t say I don’t appreciate you.”

Reluctant to trust their sincerity, Dennie hesitates before finding the seam and tearing. “It’s not going to set anything on fire, is it?”

“Nope, just something that’ll remind you of me from now on.”

“Not planning to pop your clogs, are you?”

“Not any time soon, no.”

“Shame,” Dennie grins. Without hesitation, she rips into the paper. At the same time as she delves into the box hidden beneath, John and Bill fist-bump each other. 

“Wow,” she murmurs when cardboard gives way to ceramic. Set against the curve of the mug is a photo of John standing just in front of Dennie’s figure, which is hunched ungracefully over the toilet. They’re grinning from ear to ear with their thumbs up while Dennie — as a result of her twentieth birthday — heaves up anything left in her system. “That’s — uh — thanks, mate. I hate it.”

“Brilliant,” John grins, clapping a hand against her shoulder before they turn away. “Now, where’s the food?”

* * *

Her mother finds her en route to Canine’s perch on her L-shaped sofa five minutes later, diverting her attention from the slobbering dog with a hand at her forearm. “Jayden, I’d like you to meet someone.”

From seemingly empty space, a pale ten-year-old with big eyes and an old t-shirt of hers, appears from behind Sarah-Jane’s back. His hand is tight in her mother’s hold and empathy surges towards her gut in an instant.

Her mother had called a week prior to inform her of Luke’s situation and the emergency foster care she’d offered. During the first few days, he’d been mute, but the instant he’d been granted entrance to Dennie’s old bedroom and her first camera set up — thumb rockets and a handmade stage, he’d opened up.

“Hiya, mate,” Dennie greets warmly and quietly, hyper-aware of the effect a loud voice can have on an anxious child. Twenty-odd years of constantly changing foster siblings has taught her enough to know his averted gaze and frequent swallows mean she should regard him casually; like she’s known him forever. “It’s Luke, right?”

A shy nod overthrows any words of confirmation. 

Dennie stoops slightly and offers a hand. “It’s ace to meet you, Luke. I’m Dennie.”

Her hand remains untouched, but Dennie doesn’t mention it. She drops it to her side and glances towards the buffet sprawled over her kitchen island. “D’you like birthday cake, buddy?”

The boy’s timidity keeps words from his tongue despite Sarah-Jane’s own whispered encouragements. In familiar trainers, he fidgets. 

Disappointed in her own efforts but ever-trying, Dennie follows his gaze when it settles, intrigued. 

Luke’s eyes focus repeatedly on the award perched on the shelf beside her television; a simple Rubix cube stacked atop a plaque. 

_ Ah.  _

“D’you like those?” Dennie prompts, stepping aside to reach for the accolade. Slipping the badly-glued toy free from its stand, she presents it slowly. “I don’t actually remember what I got this for — I think it were from a social at uni. I’m rubbish at them, mind. Are you any good?”

Wordlessly, Luke takes the proffered cube. Dennie’s face lights up when faintly scabbed fingers begin clicking the coloured stickers into different positions. 

After she straightens up, Sarah-Jane squeezes Dennie’s arm in gratitude. 

“If y’need me to turn the music down or if he needs some space, let me know?” she poses to her mother in a quieter tone, earning warm eyes and a warmer smile. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” 

* * *

“Hi, Canine,” Dennie greets the drooling, greying dog taking up the majority of her lavish purple sofa. Kneeling before him, she offers up a cocktail sausage and beams when he accepts the treat wholeheartedly. “How’s it goin’? Glad you made yourself comfy — s’just a shame no one else has anywhere to sit now.”

A low whine and a sniff come in response, so Dennie plucks another snack from her paper plate to feed him. “Here you go, y’big lump.”

Satisfied, Canine laps his tongue out to gather up any crumbs. Then, finding no food on offer, he thanks her with a sloppy lick of her cheek. 

Breathing a groan, Dennie nudges his giant head away and scratches at his stomach instead. “D’you ever tickle your nose when you lick your own face like that?” she asks him, taking no mind to the gathering of people just meters away. It’s a valid question, at the end of the day. 

Right?

“Is there anything you want from the party food, mate?” she prompts next, eyeing the plate she’s set aside for herself. “What about a  _ party ring _ ? I can’t remember if you like those.”

Canine tilts his head, regarding her cluelessly. 

“Better save some food for yourself, Dennie,” a voice interrupts her next remark, and, turning, the blonde finds Najia a handful of steps behind. 

She seems anxious about Canine’s size, so Dennie pats the top of his head and pulls herself back onto her feet. She drops a couple of custard creams from her plate in the process, which even the dog can’t be bothered to steal from the carpet. That’s what a childhood full of the sugary biscuits has done to him, Dennie supposes. 

After picking them up with whispered apologies — it’s her own bloody apartment, for God’s sake;  _ chill out, Dennie _ — she straightens up with a shy smile and sets her plate aside. The velvet box in the pocket of her denim jacket burns through the material when she springs in for a hug next. “Najia! Thanks for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Najia dismisses with a laugh, more than used to her nervous instincts and flailing embraces. She gives her a squeeze before pulling back. “Happy birthday, Dennie.”

“Thanks,” Dennie grins, shoving her hands into her pockets and jostling that which has set her nerves on edge all day. “You too — no, wait. Sorry.” 

Her nervous laughter and stammering must be telling if Najia’s sudden concern is anything to go by. 

“Everything alright, love?” she poses once Dennie has caught her bottom lip in an effort to stop talking. “You seem a bit jumpy.”

Scanning the room briskly to determine the location of her girlfriend, Dennie’s shoulders ease when she finds her lost in conversation with Rose and John. 

“Actually,” she starts, working hard not to shrink under Najia’s questioning gaze. It’s strange; in any other scenario, she’d be the most confident of the group. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course. Anything,” Najia agrees, though she looks worried. “Should I be concerned?”

“No! No, definitely not.” Dennie spies the open door to the balcony and thankfully finds it empty. “Mind if we do this in private, though?”

Confused but intrigued, Najia follows her skittish lead towards the apartment’s private escape. “Is this about you and Yaz?”

Once outside, Dennie leans against the railing and takes in a greedy lungful of fresh air. “Um — I don’t really know how we formalise this. It might be a bit old fashioned, but —”

“Take your time, love.” 

Dennie scratches at the back of her neck and bites back a smile. “Do you reckon — could I—” another breath; another wave of nervousness through her system. She thinks she might start heaving.

“Dennie, breathe.”

“Najia,” Dennie starts, swallows, and curls her fingers around the jewellery box in her pocket. “Can I ask for your approval?” 

“My approval?” Najia repeats, eyes wide. When Dennie tries to read her features, she finds an element of understanding beneath shock and a hint of intrigue. 

Dennie takes in the lit city beyond her home, then glances back through the closed door just in time to witness Yaz laughing into her punch. She bottles up the sight like every other time she’s grateful enough to bear witness to such an event. As for such, the next words come easy. 

“I want to ask Yaz to marry me.”

Najia’s expression is a picture when Dennie finally finds the courage to meet her gaze. 

Wide-eyed, Yaz’s mother breaks into a teary, surprised smile. 

“Today, if that’s alright?” Dennie adds. She stills the sudden tremble in her bottom lip when Najia looks caught between laughing in disbelief and crying. “No, no. Please don’t cry. S’going to set me off — and I’m a really ugly crier. You don’t want to see that, Najia.”

“Are you being serious about this, Dennie?”

“Deadly.” Dennie pats her pocket. “Got the ring and everything.”

Another long moment later, Dennie scratches the back of her neck and bites into the inside of her cheek. “So is that — do I have your approval, or —” 

Wiping her cheeks and the creases of her nose, Najia turns towards the city and motions for Dennie to do the same with a shrug of her shoulders. 

Swallowing down her apprehension at Najia’s delayed response, Dennie curls her fingers around the fairy-light-decorated rails and takes up residence at the older woman’s side. 

“Yasmin worked herself up into  _ such _ a state before she left to go to uni that first week,” Najia starts, scrutinising the streetlights in thought. “She wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating much; she’d rarely leave her room. I almost tried to persuade her to stay at home and study from there, but she didn’t want to risk missing out.”

The thought; the very  _ possibility _ that Dennie wouldn’t have met Yaz makes her stomach twist into a knot and anxiety tighten its clutches around her throat. 

Intently, however, Dennie continues to listen. 

“When she came back after her first month there, it was like she’d become a whole new person. She couldn’t stop smiling. She was happy; relaxed, for the first time in  _ God _ knows how long. Now, I understand why. ” 

Najia turns her head, her watery smile redirected Dennie’s way. “It was because of you.” 

Taken aback, Dennie can only blink through blurred vision and steady her breaths to save her heart giving out. 

“So,” she carries on with a smile identical to her eldest. “If you’re asking me for my approval, you’ve had it since those first few weeks, Dennie. And I know for a fact that Hakim will say the same.”

Dennie’s head ducks and, throat clogged, her words come out croaky and strained. “You mean that?”

A warm hand finds Dennie’s shoulder and renewed nerves swirl in her stomach; one task down but she’s still got to get the execution right. 

“You promise to keep her safe?”

“Of course. Always,” Dennie asserts instantly, head darting back up. “I promise, Najia.”

Najia softens, eyes glossy. “Then good luck. Not that I reckon you’ll need any.”

* * *

After seeing Najia off to her mother and watching Luke amble over to Canine’s side with a timid grin, Dennie gravitates towards the other side of her open kitchen to nestle into the space at Yaz’s side. 

While Bill, Rose and her girlfriend chatter, Dennie steals Yaz’s paper cup from her hands and takes a sip. 

“Oi,” Yaz chides at the same time as gin and lemonade greet Dennie’s taste buds. “That’s mine, thief.”

“But it’s my birthday,” Dennie drawls, slinking an arm lazily around Yaz’s waist before handing the drink back. Now she’s got her attention, she can check in. “How’re you doing? Y’know, ‘cause it’s a bit crowded in here. I can get them all to leave the minute it gets too much. You know that, right?”

Expression softening, Yaz offers a smile reserved only for Dennie. She sinks into her side with pinkened cheeks, sparing Dennie’s temple a kiss. “I’m okay, babe. Really good, actually. Thank you for asking.”

When Canine barks playfully from across the room, she spots Luke grinning through a game of fetch. He glances up with a sheepish expression which she greets with two thumbs up. 

“How’s he settling in?” Yaz asks, turning to curl both arms around her waist and watch on in warm concern. “Your mum must be some kind of magician with these kids.”

“She’s pretty ace, yeah,” Dennie compliments like second nature, sparing her mother a glimpse. “She said he’s getting better each day but it’s slow progress. Apparently, he likes my old bedroom. He’s been sleeping there since she picked him up.”

“With that amount of colour on the walls, I’m surprised he can sleep,” Yaz teases gently, giving her hips a squeeze. 

“Are y’calling me a bad interior designer?”

Yaz’s gaze flits from Dennie’s pouting bottom lip to the dirtied skateboard-ramp leant against the corner wall and the small hole just above, then the lopsided print above her kitchen counter. 

“I’m not sayin’ anything, babe,” Yaz answers plainly. 

Dennie frowns. “Oi.”

“I love you,” she hums in return, pressing a kiss to her jutting bottom lip and sapping the annoyance from her system in an instant. 

After a hum of consternation, Dennie grants her another fleeting kiss. “Love you too.”

At the breakfast bar before them, her mother begins lighting twenty-six individual candles atop a three-tier birthday cake drowned in rainbow icing. Dennie, however, suddenly only has eyes for the sheer cut of Yaz’s leopard print blouse. 

Her efforts to be subtle are foiled when Bill snorts at her right. “Mate, keep it in your pants, yeah?”

Flushing from head to toe, Dennie wilts under the knowing smirk Yaz shoots her. 

“But it’s my —”

“Babe, you can’t use  _ it’s my birthday _ as a response for everything.”

Sarah-Jane interrupts before she can mutter any further excuses. “Jayden, c’mere. It’s time for candles and cake.”

“I wouldn’t mind a slice of that,” Bill crows under her breath. 

On any other day, she’d get away with it. 

But, as it’s Dennie’s birthday, she may not be so lucky. 

As such, Bill earns a dead arm from Yaz in seconds. 

* * *

Dennie excuses herself once she’s suffered through the chorus of  _ Happy Birthday _ by her family and friends. After an unpleasant surprise and a quick examination of her bathroom, however, she returns to the bustling room with Bill in her sights. 

As though sensing her muted frustration, Yaz catches her elbow on the way past. “What’s up, babe? You okay?”

Donned in a frog beanie with velcro straps connected beneath her jaw (a present from Ely which had arrived in the post a day earlier, much to her glee and Yaz’s distaste), Dennie huffs. “Was Bill in here earlier?”

Yaz adjusts the green fabric for her when it falls over her forehead and encroaches upon her eyes. “Yeah, she was helping with the decorations. Why?”

“She’s replaced all my hand wash with lube and I’m pretty sure there’s hair removal cream in my shampoo bottle,” Dennie reveals in one breath, narrowing half-hidden brows. “I’m going to kill her. I’m  _ really _ going to do it this time.”

Yaz lets go just in time for Dennie to sweep towards the other side of the room, scoop two buttercream cupcakes up from the spread of party food, and slap them into dark cheeks when Bill turns to regard her. 

It might be her twenty-sixth birthday and she might spend ten minutes being berated by her own mother for her table manners, but the look of stunned alarm on Bill’s face makes the embarrassment worth it. 

* * *

“No way,” Dennie breathes, eyes wide with surprise. There’s an unopened box at her side withholding a telescope big enough for her balcony and two envelopes in her hands. One of them has been torn open in her haste. And for good reason. 

“ _ Flying lessons _ ? In a  _ plane _ ?” she reads aloud, bouncing on her toes to retain her excitement.

“Nah, mate, in a cupboard that’s bigger on the inside and travels in space and time.”

A ball of wrapping paper greets Bill’s temple. It’s become something of a reflex action by now. “Shut up, Potts. Yaz, this is amazin’, oh my  _ God _ .” 

“You’ve just got to promise you don’t take Bill with you, because I know for a  _ fact _ that won’t end well,” Yaz pleads from her side.

The rest of the group are gathered around the other side of the table, watching on in similar degrees of excitement. Sarah-Jane has her camcorder held up, recording the event like every other birthday of hers. 

“Thanks, Yaz,” Dennie divulges, ignoring the rest of the room to press a butterfly kiss to the corner of Yaz’s mouth. “That’s ace.”

While Rose and Sarah-Jane coo in turn, Bill retches. 

Flushed, Yaz blinks lidded eyes up at her. She taps at the envelope left in Dennie’s hand. “One more present — this one’s a bit different. It’s from all of us, but it’s also  _ for _ all of us, in a way.”

“Wh—” 

“Just open it, babe.” 

So, with her scrutinising eyes flitting between each of her three best friends, Dennie peels open the paper pouch and slips the encased letter free. 

It’s an official letter, signed to  _ Idiots Roaming _ and stamped by the platform they’ve inhabited. 

Reading each line in whispers — a habit she’d picked up since reading scary stories to her siblings in the middle of the night as a youngster — Dennie freezes upon the second such paragraph. “Wait —  _ what _ ?”

When she glances up from the official offer, her friends are equally impacted. 

“You’re kidding?”

“What is it, Dennie?” Najia pipes up, intrigued. 

Dennie hands the letter over if only so she can lean back against the kitchen counter and regain the feeling in her legs. “We’ve got a show,” she reveals, breaking into a grin which threatens to split her cheeks. “They’re giving us our own television programme.”

“They’re funding our next trip and they’re going to let me help direct it, too,” Yaz notes with barely hidden glee. “I think we’ve finally nailed it, Dennie.”

And, when she takes in the bustling room, her friend’s beaming faces and the pride settled unbidden in her mother’s expression, Dennie thinks she might just be right. “Yeah. I think we have.” 

* * *

In a scene reminiscent of years prior, Dennie lets Yaz drag her into her spacious bathroom ten minutes later. 

After clambering into the tub, Yaz holds out her hand. “C’mon. We don’t have long before they notice.”

Accepting her open palm, Dennie lifts her leg over the side and follows suit. She drops into Yaz’s lap and, with a cheeky grin, immediately gets down to business. 

Cupping the back of her neck, she kisses Yaz up a storm. 

Dennie swallows Yaz’s sigh in exchange for her own, moulding to her form with soft puffs of air. She slips her free hand into Yaz’s curls, trailing a path to her scalp and baring clipped nails to the spot guaranteed to urge her on. 

As such, Yaz’s open palms drop from her hips to cup her backside and grope unashamedly. 

When their fidgeting movements draw a rude noise from jeans on acrylic, however, they’re giggling too hard to deepen their embrace. 

“That sounded like a —” 

“Babe, don’t say it. You’re going to ruin the vibe completely.”

“Yaz, we’re in my bathtub and our parents are right outside. I don’t really know what  _ vibe _ you’re going for anyway.”

When Yaz narrows her brows and juts out her bottom lip, Dennie snickers and cups her cheek. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean it.”

“I was  _ trying _ to be sentimental,” Yaz reasons, leaning into her palm. “It almost all began in a tub like this.”

Dennie takes to brushing her thumb along her cheekbone in a slow, repetitive motion; like the flitting wings of a red admiral, while she thinks back. “I always thought you remembered that night,” she confesses, shifting atop her when Yaz winds her arms around her waist. Her knees bracket Yaz’s hips and squeeze. “You should ask Bill; she got sick of me moping to her about it.”

Resting their foreheads together, Dennie bumps her nose alongside Yaz’s with a contented sigh. The box in her pocket burns to attention once more. “Past me would pass out on the spot if she could see us now.” 

Yaz’s breezy laugh sends her pulse racing and her brain dialled up like she’s doped up on Bill’s speciality brownies. Refusing to waste her opportunity, she steals the tail-end with a chaste kiss. 

“Thank you for being patient,” Yaz sighs when their kiss breaks. “I still can’t believe you waited all that time, not knowing if I remembered or not.”

“Yaz, I would  _ never _ have stopped loving you,” Dennie implores, blinking at her in clueless surprise. She’d never deem her so disposable. “And five years is  _ nothing _ in the grand scheme of things. Not if this is where I end up.” 

She presses a kiss to her chin and, though her actions are playful, her tone is earnest. “You’re the only one for me, Yasmin. I don’t think I could stop loving you even if I tried.” 

Yaz’s silence makes her draw back from another pursuing kiss with piqued brows. Her eyes are glossy and there’s a telling twitch toying at the corner of her mouth. Dennie swallows. “I’m sorry. Was that too much? I didn’t mean to make you cry. Sorry.”

“I love you so much,” Yaz sighs through blurry eyes. Dennie is quick to encircle her wrist with her hand when she curls it around the side of her neck to seek her flitting pulse under her thumb. “And there’s no one else but you for me, either,” she notes with a smile when Dennie’s heart evidently soars. 

“I don’t think anyone could make me laugh half as much,” Yaz continues as though she can’t even help it, and who is Dennie to stop her? “Or smile half as much. Or just —  _ be there _ , when I have days where I just want to be alone. You could never get in the way, Dennie.”

“No one deserves to go through that kind of thing alone,” Dennie insists steadfastly, “S’long as you tell me what you need, I’m always going to try and help. I promise.” 

“I know you will.” Yaz’s expression falls impossibly soft and she smiles into the next kiss Dennie grants her. 

Capturing Yaz’s bottom lip between her own to suck and worry at the painted flesh, Dennie presses impossibly closer. No little amount of space is worth not feeling the length of Yaz’s torso against her own; her every steady breath. 

Cool hands sneak beneath her white button-up and dishevel the horizontal rainbow painted on one side. Dennie sighs when those same hands find her waist to grip firmly and possessively at the giving flesh. 

Dennie is the one to deepen the kiss, hips hitching the instant their tongues meet. The movement makes Yaz grunt, and  _ really _ , if she’s expecting Dennie to think of anything but stripping her down and drawing more of those noises out of her, then she’s a fool. 

Yaz, however, slows her efforts to a lazy gander. Despite the flames licking at Dennie’s gut, she melts into her with tender, gentle kisses which never fail to soften her girlfriend to putty. 

When their natural need for air takes over any other desires, Dennie parts from her with a satisfied hum. 

Her eyes are still closed when Yaz begins giggling; the free, carefree kind which turns infectious the instant Dennie rouses to take in her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. 

And, amidst tremendous glee, powerful affection and  _ love _ , Dennie is struck once more with the realisation that she wants more; more time with her; more  _ of _ her. 

She’s the one Dennie wants to spend the rest of her life with. 

Her hand falls to rest over her pocket. “Yaz —” 

“Marry me.” 

Dennie freezes. When she backtracks, it sounds more like Yaz had been the one to — 

Yaz slips a hand between them, digging around in the pocket of her trusty leather jacket. 

Then she pulls out a red velvet box and Dennie’s heart  _ slams _ against her ribcage. 

Propped open, the casing displays a delicate silver affair with a small sunflower centrepiece. Yaz’s hands tremble at the base. 

“No.”

Speechless, Yaz’s jaw slackens and her teary smile drops. 

Hastily, Dennie reiterates herself by fishing out an identical package. She pries it open and straightens up with wild eyes. 

“Only if you marry me first.”

In her neck, Yaz’s pulse returns. So, too, does the elated grin on her face. “Don’t fucking mess with me like that again, Jayden.”

Dennie swallows. “So was that a yes...” 

“What do you think?”

“I — I think about a lot of things —” 

“Yes, you idiot.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Now, will you?”

“Will I  _ what _ ?”

“Oh my  _ God.” _

“Gotcha.” Dennie glides right in to press a kiss to her nose. “‘Course I’ll marry you, baby.” 

From across the room, behind the bathroom door, comes a shuffling sound. 

Neither pay it any due. 

Enduring her inflating ego for what it’s worth, Yaz cups her chin with her free hand to steal a kiss from her mouth. “Y’gonna put that ring on my finger, or are y’too busy being smug?”

Dennie follows her instruction with no less glee, fidgeting atop her lap with uncontrolled excitement. It’s a perfect fit — a dainty silver band dusted with tiny embedded stars. “I can’t believe you stole my moment.”

“You said no to my wedding proposal,” Yaz bites back, returning the favour in jest. She doesn’t have long to admire her handiwork before Dennie lifts her hand and melds soft lips to her knuckles. 

“I was  _ trying _ to segue,” Dennie argues with glistening pupils. She studies the band around Yaz’s slender finger; realises what this means, and belatedly panics. 

“Dennie?” Yaz can read her like a book. 

“You don’t think we’re going too fast, d’you?” 

Yaz‘s palm is warm against her cheek, making the cool surface of her ring a stark reminder. “Been waiting for you all my life, babe. I think we’re doin’ perfectly.”

Dennie’s shoulders loosen and she grins into another hazy kiss. Yaz tastes like a dream. “I were really hoping you’d say that. Me too.” 

_ “What’s happening here? Open up, I need a piss!”  _ an unfortunately familiar voice breaks their blissful bubble and Dennie  _ groans _ as she stands from the tub, reaching for Yaz’s hand to help her up. 

The instant the door opens, however, Najia and Sarah-Jane tumble inside with tandem gasps.

It’s not hard to put two and two together after that. 

But Dennie tends to make five. “Were y’listening to us kissing? Mum, that’s weird.” 

“Were you betting on who would ask first?” Yaz chides instead.  _ Oh _ . “‘Cause it was me.”

When Sarah-Jane straightens up to sheepishly hand Najia a ten-pound note, Dennie’s mouth drops.  _ “Mum _ _.” _

Her mother winces while Najia smirks through her teeth beside her. “Congratulations?”

“As cute as this is — congrats, guys — ” Bill starts, bouncing on her toes and clutching her stomach in the doorway, “— I still need a piss. Also, I purposefully forgot that I’m not great with dairy and had a  _ lot _ of Sarah-Jane’s delicious cheesecake — thanks again, miss Smith — so y’might want to give me ten to fifteen minutes. And some air freshener. Cheers, gang.”

“If you block my toilet  _ again— _ “ Dennie groans, making headway back into her apartment with Yaz in tow. “Remind me why we invite her anywhere?” 

“Let me see,” Najia intrudes before they can escape, lifting Yaz’s hand to eye the silver engagement ring. “Oh, it’s beautiful. You’ve got a good eye, Dennie.”

Dennie’s chest swells with pride. “Thanks,” she murmurs, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “And thanks for earlier. Not that I needed the reassurance, apparently.”

When Najia shares a proud but telling smile with her daughter, Dennie narrows her eyes. “Wait — Najia, did you know? That whole time?”

If Najia opts to be coy, Sarah-Jane clearly doesn’t get the memo. 

“We both did,” her mother divulges with a mischievous grin. 

Dennie’s mouth forms a small  _ o _ , and, while Yaz giggles beside her, she glares her mother down. “And you never thought to warn me to get in there early?”

“C’mon, Dennie. We both knew Yaz would get there first.” 

“Are y’hearing this, Yaz?”

Yaz — her  _ fiance — _ bites into her bottom lip to keep her grin tamed. “I mean, they’re not wrong.” She pats the top of her head and Dennie grumbles. “You’re not the quickest to read signals sometimes, babe.” 

When Najia and Sarah-Jane snicker their amusement, Dennie realises she might have made a mistake in allowing them to form a fast friendship. 

In the wake of a chain flushing, Bill pats her shoulder on the way past. “Good luck, mate. That’s all I’m saying.”

Rose, of all people, seems to be the only one not somehow involved in their messy proposal. 

When Dennie slopes over with Yaz close behind and a beer in her hand, she zones in on the new accessory with wide eyes. 

“Oh, my God, this is gorgeous, Dennie,” she interrupts John mid-sentence, much to Dennie’s glee. “Was it a birthday gift?”

“You could say that,” Dennie chimes while Rose inspects the ring, withholding a snicker. “You should see Yaz’s.”

At her side, Yaz raises their linked hands for Rose’s eager eye. 

“This would make an adorable engagement ring, Yaz,” she observes in earnest. Never more has Dennie compared her best friend to a magpie in relation to shiny objects. 

It takes less than a minute for the penny to drop. 

Rose lifts her gaze from their garmented fingers at the same time as Dennie and Yaz trade instinctive, softened smiles. 

“Wait — did you guys just —”

Yaz’s brow raises. 

“Are you two engaged?” 

Dennie’s flushed grin and Yaz’s coy shrug are all the confirmation Rose needs before she springs forward. She meets their chests with a grunt, swinging her arms over their shoulders and bouncing in her excitement. “Congratulations, guys! Oh my god, can I design your wedding outfits? Can I help with the arrangements? What about the colour scheme? D’you reckon you’ll have a traditional —” 

“Rose, breathe,” Dennie chides. 

“Sorry,” Rose pants, drawing back. She can’t wipe the grin from her face even if she tries. It’s infectious. “Just — look at you both. You’re glowing. God, I feel like a proud mum.”

All at once, an arm slinks around Rose’s shoulders and Bill reappears. “So we’re in agreement I’ll be your best person, right?” she asks Dennie with confidence. 

“We haven’t even —” 

“I think you’d make a great page boy,” Dennie chirps. “Confetti and all. Maybe a little flat cap.” 

“You’re so lucky your parents are here right now,” Bill gripes with a huff. 

“C’mon, bunny. None of that. It’s her birthday.”

Bill’s dark cheeks gain colour and, wide-eyed, she averts her gaze to send the blonde an embarrassed glare. “ _ Rose _ .”

But it’s too late. 

While Yaz holds back laughter, Dennie’s face lights up with conniving glee. Oh, she’s  _ loving _ this.  _ “Bunny,  _ huh?” 

“Shut the fuck —” 

“Aw. Sorry, bunny.” Dennie pats Bill’s shoulder and witnesses her rage turn her eyes a darker shade. She’s treading a fine line and she knows it. “Catch a fluffy ear, did I?” 

“I’ll get you back for this.”

“Think someone needs their litter box changed. Oh! I've got some carrot sticks in the fridge if you’re hangry?” 

Bill pulls back from Rose and drags herself away, middle finger raised. “I need more beer.”

* * *

Hours later, and worn down by socialising, eating ( _ lots _ of eating) and dancing, Dennie flops onto her purple sofa with a groan. The last few chords of a  _ Coldplay _ song come to pass from the speakers set up below her large screen television, transitioning fluidly into the first strums of an acoustic guitar. 

There’s still fairly lights glinting from every corner and banners lining the floor to ceiling windows surrounding her open living room. They remain the only lighting on in the spacious room, dousing them both in rainbow colour. 

“Tired?” Yaz pipes up from across the room, dropping the remaining beer bottles into the recycling bin and leaving the rest of the mess for them to deal with in the morning. 

“Exhausted,” Dennie grumbles, raising her hands in a grabbing motion as soon as Yaz approaches. 

A secure hand and a gentle pull later, Dennie stumbles into Yaz’s chest with a pleased hum. Naturally, she sneaks her hands beneath her blouse and settles them, fingers spanned, against her lower back. 

“Hiya,” Dennie breathes, bumping foreheads. 

“Hey,” Yaz whispers back, slipping her open palms into the star-dusted back pockets of Dennie’s jeans to cop a feel. “Happy birthday, babe.”

Matching grins meet. As always, time stutters to a halt. 

Between pauses for breath and moulding, unifying bodies, time does not exist. 

Dennie doesn’t know how long she’s been worrying Yaz’s bottom lip and sweeping her tongue along the backs of her teeth before oxygen pleads with her instincts and she lets their foreheads rest together. 

“Still gettin’ sparks,” she sighs against Yaz’s parted lips. “Think I always will.”

“Sparks?” Yaz repeats, adorably dazed. 

She draws one of Yaz’s hands around from her backside to rest over her sternum, two fingers gliding over the space just beneath the band of her bra. “Right here.”

“So if I was to…” Yaz ducks her head, kiss-swollen lips finding a flitting pulse and making home there. She laps her tongue against the flushed skin there; tiny figure of eights succeeding in turning Dennie’s knees to jelly. 

In the wake of a graze of teeth, a telltale shiver and an electric pulse run beneath Yaz’s fingertips.

“ _ Ah _ . Yeah — just got ‘em again.” 

Pulling back to peck her lips, Yaz seeks out her eyes. Her own are dilated beyond words and a different kind of pulse altogether shoots to the space between Dennie’s thighs. 

“Think it’s time I gave you your final birthday gift, babe,” Yaz whispers against her mouth, dropping her hands to her hips. “Or would y’prefer me to put it on instead?” 

“Put it  _ on? _ What is —” 

Dennie swallows a gulp as she finds the answer clear as day in Yaz’s black eyes. She clears her throat when it suddenly runs dry. “Oh. You could — um — yeah, I mean — putting it on would be — would be great, I think. Cool. Really cool. Definitely fine with that.”

“You’re adorable.” Yaz pinches her chin and pecks her lips, then turns for the bathroom. “Go to your room and take your clothes off for me?”

* * *

“You okay?”

Breathing through gritted teeth and the sensation of almost overwhelming fullness, Dennie’s clipped nails indent the perfect skin of Yaz’s strong shoulders. “Just —  _ ah _ ,” she pauses when Yaz adjusts her position and the toy nudges further along her walls. “Just need a moment.”

“If it’s too much, I can stop. We don’t have to, babe—”

“No,  _ no _ . I want this. I want you.” Dennie’s chest heaves and Yaz fixes her with an ever-concerned frown. “Kiss me?” 

“That,” Yaz leans in, bare breasts to bare breasts. “I can definitely do.” 

While Yaz ravages her up north, south; arousal floods to the point where their bodies meet, coating the toy and affording Dennie a more comfortable embrace. 

Digging her heels into the backs of Yaz’s thighs, Dennie gasps into her mouth. “Y’can move now.” 

Yaz’s hips still when the toy is halfway withdrawn before she begins sinking into her once more, her movements monitored and restrained despite the desire rolling off her in waves. 

Head thrown back, Dennie sweeps a hand down Yaz’s side to her hip, guiding her slow-building thrusts. “ _ Fuck _ .”

“How do I feel, babe?” 

“Amazin’,” Dennie grunts, sealing her lips to Yaz’s shoulder and arching her hips up. “Proper,  _ proper _ amazin’. I knew y’would.” 

Palming a flushed breast while she maintains the steady rocks of her hips, Yaz moans as Dennie bites down on her shoulder. “You knew? Y’been thinking a lot about it, babe?”

Blushing scarlet, Dennie tucks her face against Yaz’s neck so as not to project her every waking (and sleeping) thought for the last few months onto Yaz’s smug cortexes. 

“Jayden,” Yaz murmurs in a sing-song tone, lifting herself onto her elbows to better seek her out. 

The use of her full name forces fresh arousal to coat the toy sinking between her thighs with every other breath and Dennie can only hide for so long. 

“Quite — quite a lot, yeah.” Dennie averts her gaze to watch the join of their bodies. Her groan comes out unbidden. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Dennie’s observation drives further heat to her gut and the development greets the room in sodden noises edging on obscenity. 

Amongst their mutual heavy breaths, Yaz picks up on the fresh reaction. “Christ, Dennie.” She sits up on her knees after the next thrust, lifting Dennie’s hips to angle them anew. The position leaves her gazing upon the junction of their bodies with unrestrained hunger. Dennie shudders. “You’re so wet.” 

Yaz’s reaction— and the knowledge that she’s just as affected as Dennie — leaves her thoughts scattered like their clothes across the bedroom floor. Fisting her fingers into the pillow behind her head when a particularly well-angled thrust coaxes her to shudder from head to toe, Dennie cries out. 

The brush and pinch of fingers against her chest combined with the sight of Yaz’s flexing abdominals are almost too much. Dennie’s release approaches fast. 

So lost in the feel of Yaz’s perfect manipulation, Dennie takes a delayed second to respond when she abruptly slows. 

Panting, Yaz draws her hips back and wipes the back of her hand across her sweat-doused forehead. Dennie mourns the loss with a pathetic whine. “D’you want to ride me, baby?”

Any arousal still sitting at the surface surges to her gut in seconds and, nodding, Dennie bites into her bottom lip. “Please.”

Yaz’s smirk is audible. She lies back against dark blue sheets and pats Dennie’s thigh. “Good girl.”

Incentivised, Dennie springs up. Rather over-enthusiastically — if Yaz’s quickly steadying hands are anything to go by — she straddles her firm thighs and eases back onto the toy with a low grunt. 

She doesn’t let up until her thighs bracket Yaz’s hips and the feeling of fullness between her legs makes her dizzy. 

The instant she adapts to the new position, Dennie spans her palm over Yaz’s stomach and curls the other around her shoulder to start up a clumsy rhythm. 

Beneath her, Yaz marvels. She guides her movements with both hands at her hips, rocking up into her with every other thrust. 

In time, Dennie’s speed multiplies. Between swift, jerky motions, Yaz lathers attention upon her chest with whispered encouragements and praise.

“You look so  _ fucking _ good right now, babe,” Yaz sighs against her chest, gripping at her hip while she works her nipple with her tongue. “You’re doing so well.”

_ “Yaz _ ,” Dennie growls, thighs aching with the effort. She reaches for one of Yaz’s hands and settles it just shy of her aching core, hoping she gets the message.

Two fingers find home against her clit and with practised precision, her girlfriend reduces her dialogue solely to breathy whimpers and grunts. Dennie grips at her forearm and grinds desperately against Yaz’s deft fingers. “Oh,  _ fuck _ , you’re gonna make me come. _ ” _

Lifting her chin, Yaz’s eyes dart north to capture her expression as she unfurls. 

A second later, Dennie tosses her head back with a staggered groan, hips jagged and uncoordinated in their efforts to prolong her bliss. 

Yaz plants her heels against the sheets and rocks up to assist her through her orgasm, dragging out each spark of pleasure until she’s wrung out entirely. 

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs when Dennie pitches forward to slump against her chest. “You did so good, babe.”

Dennie shivers as her praise stokes the last remnants of ash back to light in her stomach. Her hips swivel and grind against the dampened toy in a handful of thrusts before another, less powerful orgasm rids her lungs of oxygen once more. 

With a breathless giggle, Yaz curls her arms around her waist and lets the toy slip free. She kisses the sigh from Dennie’s lips as she readjusts. 

“Fuck,” Dennie breathes, responding with a weak kiss before she slumps to the mattress beside Yaz. “That was…  _ fuck _ .”

“You’re right.” Yaz wriggles free from the harness and tosses it carelessly aside. She rolls onto her side, then, and stills Dennie’s trembling thigh muscles under her palm. “You okay?”

Dennie scarcely catches her breath before responding. “More than okay. We’re definitely doing that again.”

Opening an arm to allow Dennie to mould against her side, Yaz brushes her lips against the space between her brows. “Happy birthday, babe.” 

“Best birthday ever,” she confides, fitting snugly beneath her chin. She lets a hand stray over Yaz’s firm stomach to her hip in tell-tale fashion. “Do you want me to —” 

“That was about you, Dennie. You don’t have to.”

“But —” Dennie lifts her head and licks her lips, projecting smugness. “I didn’t get any dessert?”

Yaz’s eyes roll in tapered amusement. “That was awful. Think I’m dryin’ up already.”

But Dennie is nothing but persistent. “Let me fix that for you?”

Clicking her tongue, Yaz watches her readjust in quelled intrigue. 

Seconds later and knelt between Yaz’s thighs, Dennie smiles far too innocently. “Please?”

* * *

An hour later and freshly showered, Dennie slips between the sheets beside Yaz and leans up on crossed elbows. “Thank you for today, Yaz. S’been brilliant,” she divulges, dropping her cheek to her forearm and taking in Yaz’s tired browns. 

“Babe, you’ve thanked me every five minutes since the party,” Yaz contradicts. She reaches between them to tuck a flyaway hair behind her ear and sends her a humble but somewhat concerned smile. “It’s your birthday, and you deserved every second of celebration.” 

When Yaz yawns, Dennie’s smile falters enough to give the other woman pause. 

“Dennie, is everything okay?”

Averting her gaze to the dark blue of her sheets, Dennie worries the inside of her cheek. 

Yaz’s hand finds her shoulder and her lips find her cheek. “Babe?”

Dennie’s silence is unnerving even to her, but the heaviness to her chest she gains at the same time, on the same day,  _ every _ year, puts her thoughts through a shredder rather than allowing her to organise them on her tongue.

“Dennie, what’s wrong?” Yaz persists in blind worry, but Dennie knows there’s a question on her mind. 

Throat tight, Dennie tilts her head. “You’re not — I don’t exhaust you, do I? Because I know I can get excitable sometimes and go a bit hyper when there’s lots of people about — like a kid with too many sweets, mum says. But I’m really sorry if I —”

“Woah, woah,  _ no _ , Dennie. Absolutely not,” Yaz interrupts in surprise which makes Dennie hesitate. 

Huh. So she hadn’t even considered — 

“What’s this all about, Dennie?” she continues, seemingly alarmed by the path of her thoughts. But there’s something else, too. Dennie winces a second before it surfaces. “You always get like this, on your birthday. Just — you just go off somewhere. I’ve noticed every year, babe. You look sad. Lost. Is that why you asked that?”

Before Dennie can gather the memories and the right words to reply, a penny drops to the floor somewhere nearby. 

“Oh,  _ shit _ . Should I not have organised that party today, Dennie? Was that a mistake? Oh, God, I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry.”

“No. No, it’s okay. You were fine. Perfect. The party was — it was brilliant, Yaz. Don’t apologise, please.” 

Still unsure but willing, Yaz reaches for Dennie’s closest hand. “Can you talk to me, then, baby? You look so upset. I really don’t like it.” The last comment is meant to tease, but it falls flat when Yaz’s voice wavers in the last second. “Jayden, please talk to me.”

“It’s not — it’s not anything that’s happened recently. It’s not about today. It’s just — well,” Dennie admires the ring hugging Yaz’s finger; takes stability and strength from it. “I’ve never really liked my birthday. Until these last few years — since I met you and Bill and the others, basically, it was the one day I dreaded most.

Y’see, when I were growing up, through primary school, I didn’t actually have many friends. None at all, really. But it was okay when I had my foster siblings around, because I’d spend all my time with them, trying to get them to talk and learn how to play and just — just be kids, really.”

She shifts, settling on her back and eyeing the unblemished ceiling so as to scrawl her messy thoughts on the white surface rather than word them herself. “But then the time would come where they’d be fostered by someone else, or adopted by a couple looking for a kid, and I’d still be there. Alone.”

“I had a birthday party planned when I was turning eight — mum said there’d be cake, a bouncy castle, sweets, chocolate; a  _ mountain _ of food. I had three foster siblings at that point, way before Ely and John came around. They were triplets and they were my best friends at the time. Anyway, the day before my birthday came and when I got back from school for the party, they were being driven away. A couple had asked to adopt them a week before and it was the only day they could take them because they were leavin’ the country.”

“Dennie…” Yaz whispers, entranced but predicting the next part. 

“My mum told me to let my friends at school know to come to the party; to invite a bunch around and have a big celebration. She were trying to cheer me up but —”

“Babe, did anyone turn —” 

“Nobody turned up, obviously, because I’d spend all my time making sure my siblings were okay before even  _ thinking _ about making friends with everyone else — plus, it were like,  _ half way _ through the year, and it’s difficult to join groups which are already made.” 

“Dennie, how long did this happen for?”

“Well, luckily, I had lots of foster siblings, and I did  _ try _ to make friends with the other kids, but they were just so — they were really mean, Yaz. They thought I was weird because I hung out with kids who weren’t ever in school for long. They made rumours that I’d scared them away and that’s why they didn’t come back.”

“Babe,  _ how long _ ?”

“Sarah-Jane used to take me on holidays, instead, when she realised what was happening. Every birthday we’d go somewhere new, and I’d get to spend all my time with her. She’d spoil me rotten. Think that’s why I love travellin’ so much now.” 

Dennie takes a breath, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration and upset. “It wasn’t so bad once Ely and John were adopted, but I were twelve by then, and I only had Rose, my next-door neighbour, as a mate, and she went to a different school anyway. You, Bill and Clara were my first proper group of friends.”

“I’ll always be thankful for that,” she finishes in a whisper, hazel eyes shining. 

Yaz’s arms have healing powers. When she drags her in for a clumsy hug, Dennie sighs into her hairline. 

“I’m so glad I met you, Dennie,” Yaz breathes into her ear, “And remind me to give Rose a huge hug next time we see —” 

Dennie tenses. “Yaz, she doesn’t know.” 

“Ah,” Yaz pauses, drawing back enough to rest their foreheads together. “Still going t’give her a hug, though. I’ll make up an excuse.” 

“Only my mum knows,” Dennie reiterates, sinking into the pressure. She feels Yaz swipe under her eye to thumb away any remaining moisture before replacing its presence with a kiss. Another string connected to her racing heart pulls and, softening, Dennie comes home to her chest when Yaz lies back. 

“But I’m so happy I met you, too,” she whispers into Yaz’s borrowed pyjama top (although really, looking at her wardrobe, it’s more of a communal venture at this point). “You have no idea the impact you made.” 

Yaz’s fingers find Dennie’s hair and sink through to scrawl circles into her scalp. “Right back at you, babe. And Dennie?”

Too tired to lift her head, Dennie hums her response instead. 

“Thank you for telling me that.” 

Slinking an arm around her hips, she sags against her. Bliss ripples through her scalp and makes her shiver and purr. “Thanks for listenin’. And for bein’ my friend.”

“Think you’ll find that’s  _ fiance _ to you, Den.” 

Dennie’s relieved, easy giggle causes the steady thump beneath her head to trip over itself. “Phew — would y’consider that? Right you are.”

Yaz scratches at the back of her neck before rounding to her ear, giving in to their mutual weightlessness despite the fact she’s definitely going to have Dennie’s past on her mind for a while to come — Dennie can tell. “Now get some sleep, alright? You’ve been running about like a headless chicken all day.” 

“Yaz?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for making me like birthdays again.”

“Always, babe.”

* * *

_ @billpottstan 3 September 2020 [8:46AM]: it’s almost nine in the morning and dennie and bill haven’t said anything hateful to each other yet come thru ladies  _

_ @denniesmithofficial 3 September 2020 [9:14AM]: good morning bunny @pottsbill <33333333333333333333333 say it back x _

_ @denniesmithofficial @denniesclxwn: WTF KFJKJFHKKGJGKJ _

_ @denniesmithofficial @pottsbill: come over and say that to my face  _

_ @billpottstan 3 september 2020 [9:25AM]: business as usual what a relief x _

* * *

_ @YazKhans 4 September 2020 [11:01AM]: even if it’s the only thing you do today, try to make a new friend. you never know what people are like until you give them a chance — who knows, they could become your best mate X _

* * *

_ @gaysroxming 7 September 2020 [8:47PM]: are u and bill girlfriends yet @tylersofficial ? cause if not yall are so LOUD _

_ @gaysroxming @tylersofficial: aw sorry! one sec, @pottsbill u wanna be my gf? _

_ @gaysroxming @tylersofficial @pottsbill: sure babe  _

_ @tylersofficial @pottsbill @gaysroxming: are u FUCKING FKIDDDING YALLL AAAAAAAhHJFBKJF _

_ @BuzzFeed 7 September 2020 [9:00PM]: Internet Influencers Bill Potts and Rose Tyler Use Fans Tweet to Ask Each Other Out. Find the inside scoop here: https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/jacestripe/bill-potts-and-rose-tyler-girlfriends  _

_ @denniesmithofficial 7 September 2020 [11:18PM]: MY KEYBOARD IS STUCK ON CAPS HEL P _

_ @denniesmithofficial @YazKhans: press the caps lock button _

_ @YazKhans @denniesmithofficial: WHERE IS IT _

_ @YazKhans @denniesmithofficial: oh _

_ @YazKhans @denniesmithofficial: found it  _

_ @YazKhans @denniesmithofficial: thanks yaz <3 _

_ @denniesmithofficial @denniestan: clown _

  
  


* * *

__

_ @idiotsroamingofficial 16 October 2020 [8:00PM]:  _ **_NEW VIDEO — A DAY IN THE LIFE WITH DENNIE AND YAZ_ **

“Morning, guys.” Camera poised, Yaz slings an arm over Dennie’s shoulders and tilts her head at her through the bathroom mirror. “What are we up to first, Dennie?”

After clipping the last clasp of her dungarees into place, Dennie grins at her mirrored duplicate. She rolls the sleeves of her fairisle jumper to sit comfortably around her wrists and leans into Yaz’s side. “Food shopping! Because we’re —”

“Out of food because Dennie eats it all —” 

“— boring adults who need sustenance to survive.” Dennie blinks. “Oi. I don’t eat  _ all _ the food. Plus,” she snickers, “I can’t help that you’re mooching off my flat.”

“I am not  _ mooching _ off your — where are you going?”

“TARDIS isn’t going to drive herself, is she? C’mon.” 

Dennie manages to make it halfway to the lift before Yaz tackles a warm jacket onto her shoulders and zips her up with a chiding  _ “You’re going to freeze your tits off otherwise.” _

* * *

“Why don’t we make it a contest?”

“A contest?”

“We could split the shopping list and race to find everything we need?”

“Hm.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” 

“Alright, fine.”

* * *

Securing her own camera to the handles of her trolley, Dennie addresses the lens with a grin a short time later. “So, I’ve memorised everything on my list. Well,  _ most _ things, anyway, but I think we’ll start with the biscuits.”

Kicking off the ground, Dennie glides along the aisle. Trolleys are just skateboards with pockets, after all. “I bet Yaz is telling everyone how bad I am at shopping right now. If she is; don’t listen to her. She’s just not aligned with my method, y’see.” 

* * *

“Dennie cannot shop to save her life,” Yaz declares to the camera, eyeing the fresh vegetables on offer. “And if it were her choice, there’d be no vegetables in her diet at all.” 

Scooping a salad pot and a handful of carrots up, Yaz disposes them into the trolley. “It’s a good thing I’m around most of the time, even if I have to cook for her so she doesn’t burn her flat down.”

A bouquet of fresh yellow roses later, Yaz flushes pink. It’s easy to forget the camera is still watching her when she works with them so often. “These weren’t on the list, but they’re her favourite colour. You can’t blame me, can you?”

* * *

Dennie taps her temple and skids forth, scrunching her nose on the way past a display of pears. “ _ My _ method is to let my nose guide the way. If it works for dogs, it works for me. Oh, and avoid salad and veg at all costs. There were a theory when I was younger which said the more veg you eat, the more boring you get. I’ve stuck by that.”

Dropping a pizza (or three) into her trolley, she heads down the opposite aisle in a zig-zag pattern. “Not that Yaz is boring. She’s pretty ace, act— ooh! I love these. They’re delicious.”

At the same time as she squeaks around the next corner, a bag of chocolate buttons made for dogs greets the bottom of her cart. 

* * *

“Dennie would probably eat dog food if it came down to it,” Yaz drawls, stocking up on milk and juice. She can hear a trolley squealing tellingly nearby, so she detours towards the breakfast aisle. “Which, I mean, each to their own, but that stuff  _ stinks _ .” 

Two boxes of Dennie’s favourite cookie cereal and a box of porridge gathered, she double-checks her meticulous shopping list with a grin. “I bet she’s not even checked her list yet.”

* * *

“So,” Dennie begins, nudging her trolley forwards and letting go. While it  _ clunks _ into a box full of footballs and basketballs, she jogs towards a stand full of piñatas. “I haven’t checked my list yet, but I  _ love  _ a  _ piñata _ .”

After lugging the giant lama into her arms, she wheels the four-wheeler back towards her. “The last time I had one of these I accidentally whacked Bill over the head with the stick.”

She stuffs the paper party decoration in with the rest of her shopping and smirks at the camera. “Well, I say  _ accidentally _ .”

* * *

“Just one more thing left,” Yaz enthuses with a fist-bump, making headway for the freezer section. As soon as she checks her list, however, she baulks. “Thirteen?” 

Beneath Yaz’s neatly detailed items, Dennie’s familiar scrawl notes  _ thirteen tubs of chocolate ice cream (for bath video).  _

Eyeing the ice cream shelf in distinct dismay, Yaz heaves a sigh. “I hate her.” 

* * *

“Dennie, what the —” 

“Hiya! You took your time, didn’t you?” Dennie snickers, arms folded as she leans against her shopping trolley. 

“Oh, yeah, and you know why?” Yaz snipes, wheeling her cart over with a huff. “Didn’t think to mention the  _ thirteen  _ tubs of ice cream, did you?”

Dennie’s smirk must be telling. Ducking her head to hide her amusement, she avoids Yaz’s accusing glare. “It’s for a video. Talking of, d’you mind if I use your bath tomorrow?”

“I do mind, yeah,” Yaz grumbles, then eyes her fiance’s shopping trolley. “Dennie, is that a  _ piñata? _ And —” Like a fretting mother, she plucks free a box and frowns. “Swing-ball? Really?” 

Arms folding, Dennie stands her ground. “I love piñatas _. _ Piñati? S’there a plural version— Yaz? Yaz, wait for me!”

* * *

_ @denniestan 16 October 2020 [8:34PM] sorry but???? thirteen boxes of ice cream??? for a bath???? when are we getting this video @denniesmithofficial  _

_ @denniesmithofficial 16 October 2020 [8:46PM]: wait no one else bathes in chocolate ice cream??? _

_ @denniesmithofficial @fourgayidixts: i hate that i genuinely cant tell if ur joking or not  _

_ @billpottsfan 16 October 2020 [9:03PM]: um?????? are all of you missing the RINGS ON THEIR ENGAGEMENT FINGERS???? _

_ @billtpottsfan @denniestan: wait  _

_ @billpottsfan @denniestan: WHAT HOW DID WE MISS THAT  _

_ @fourgayidixts 16 October 2020 [9:05PM]: YALL JUST GONNA KEEP US GUESSING??? @denniesmithofficial @YazKhans MUMS ARE U GETTING MARRIED _

* * *

After adjusting the tripod standing before her yoga mat, Yaz stretches her arms over her head. Her tight tank top clings to her ribs and emphasises the toned nature of her stomach. “You sure you’re up for this?” 

Dressed down in an oversized  _ idiots roaming _ tee and a pair of rainbow trunks, Dennie drops to the spare mat with crossed legs and puffs out her chest. “Pfft. Should be easy. Can I use my skateboard?”

“This is yoga, babe. So, no.”

Eyeing the scuffed board resting against the opposite wall in disappointment, Dennie sighs. 

But when Yaz positions herself a minute later, hips raised and head dipped, Dennie finds herself with a vested interest in the figure-hugging nature of her leggings. 

“Got it?” Yaz hums, the sound breathy and strained as though they’re in an entirely different scenario altogether. “Dennie?”

From her place behind tight lycra and a rounded backside, Dennie swallows, blinking rapidly. “Hm? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“You’ve just got to angle your head down and straighten out your legs — babe, are you even—” 

Jaw slack, Dennie’s cheeks flush when Yaz glances back over her shoulder. She tries her best not to let on her derailing thoughts, but Yaz can always tell. 

Sheepishly, she rubs the back of her neck. 

“C’mon, up on your knees, Dennie,” Yaz instructs, tapping her crossed legs in request. “I’ll show you.” 

Dennie’s brows rise at the insinuation. “Y’know, I could sit this one out.”

“Nope. C’mon. You said you wanted to try. Y’lit a candle and everythin’.”

“But—” 

“Just  _ relax _ , babe.” 

“What if I can’t find my pen, Yaz?”

“It’s  _ zen _ , and everything’s worth a try, right? You always say that.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Now, arse up, chin forward.”

“S’what you said last —” 

“Mouth shut.”

* * *

Dennie doesn’t find her  _ zen  _ in holding her position and sweating through ample sit-ups. 

No, Dennie finds her zen in handstands and jumping from a squat onto her skateboard without it slipping from beneath her feet. 

Sitting up on her mat to simply watch on, Yaz eventually gives up on her usual yoga session. 

She eyes the camera in exasperated dismay when Dennie bends into an enthusiastic cartwheel. 

So much for Yaz’s relaxation. 

And the prints hanging from the wall which meet the floor seconds later. 

Head popping up from behind the sofa, Dennie grins. “Didja see that? Must’ve been a mini earthquake. Definitely wasn’t me.”

* * *

Hovering a marshmallow over the pre-lit hob and watching as the tip browns, Dennie licks her lips. Her camera sits on a tripod atop the kitchen counter, keeping watch from a safe distance. 

Turning to glance over her shoulder, Yaz rolls her eyes. “Babe, you can’t just roast a marshmallow every time you see a naked flame.”

Dennie bites into the charred sugary treat with a toothy grin. She adds another soft pink marshmallow to the end of her skewer and returns it to the stove. “Why not?”

“I’m going to need that in a minute if you want melted chocolate on top of your biscuits, and I don’t fancy getting sticky, melted marshmallow on the bottom of the pan, even if it is  _ your _ apartment.” 

Dennie hums in thought, considering her fiance’s woes. 

She blows at her torched snack when her distraction leaves the marshmallow free to catch. 

“ _ Dennie _ .”

“Alright, alright. Don’t go on about it. Chocolate time!”

* * *

“Did you  _ seriously _ make me melt a whole bar of chocolate just so you could eat half of it before the biscuits have even cooled?”

Licking the sticky residue from her lips, Dennie pauses with the next spoonful halfway to her mouth. “S’not my fault they take so long.”

Closing in on her as quick as a flash, Yaz ducks her head and opens her mouth. 

After a hazy few blinks and a flood of colour to her cheeks, Dennie slips the spoon past waiting lips.

Yaz’s appeased purr turns Dennie’s knees to jelly and her thoughts to water vapour beneath her skull. 

She kisses the bead of chocolate from the corner of her mouth before she can pull back, but gulps as soon as she spots the camera still facing their way. 

“We can edit this bit out, right?” she hums before sweeping her tongue across Yaz’s bottom lip for a better taste. 

“Definitely,” Yaz sighs, looping her arms around her neck and grinning into their next kiss. 

At the same time as her back greets the edge of the counter, Dennie’s spoon clatters to the floor with a  _ clang _ . 

* * *

As night greets the balcony off from her lounge and their filming for the day comes to an end, Dennie wraps up warm and sinks into the padded wooden bench painted rainbow just outside the sliding balcony doors. 

With two bottles and a box of matches in hand, Yaz slinks through her flat to join her. 

Depositing a bottle of her favourite beer into Dennie’s readied palm, she pads over to the firepit and stokes the dry wood to flames for extra warmth. 

“Thanks, Yaz,” Dennie sighs into her first sip. She pats the spot next to her when Yaz has finished up, opening the blanket draped over her lap in invitation. “Bill and Rose should be here any —” 

The door to Dennie’s apartment unlocks and clicks open (because there was no point inviting the others around so much without giving them a key) and Bill’s voice carries through from the hallway. “If you two are having sex on the balcony, I’m going t’be  _ well _ pissed.” 

“Bill, shut up,” Dennie hears Rose chide, followed by a chipper, “I’ve brought wine!”

“Why do we always invite Bill?” Dennie whispers to the warm body pressed to her side. “Is it some weird hypnosis thing? Do we have to perform a seance to escape it?” 

“Nah,” Bill appears suddenly beside the bench, making Dennie start with a yelp. “Can’t get rid of this curse, babes. Besides, you’d miss me too much.” 

When she ruffles her hair, Dennie groans. “Piss off, Potts.” 

“You won’t be saying that when you see what I’ve brought with me.”

“Is it a gag?”

“Whoa, mate. Save that for  _ Yaz-time _ , alright?” 

“Dennie, do  _ not _ push her.”

“Yaz, she’s annoying me.”

“Doesn’t mask the fact there’s a fire right behind her.” 

“Bill, sit down so I can kick your chair over.” 

“ _ Dennie _ .” 

* * *

While Yaz shows Bill some snippets from today’s video, Dennie trades sips of wine with Rose and warms her bare feet just shy from the fire pit. 

“Look at you, Jayden,” Rose hums with warm eyes and a kind smile which Dennie will always affiliate with their first meeting over the rainbow-painted garden fence of her childhood home. “Ever think we’d be here right now?”

“Never,” Dennie answers honestly, handing the bottle back over. The alcohol burns her throat and winds her senses back until only two are employed at a time. Beneath her navy jumper, her chest flushes pink. “Didn’t think I’d ever have any of this, t’be honest,” she confesses, motioning not just to her expansive apartment but to Bill and Yaz. “It’s pretty ace, right?”

Rose’s laugh is endearing and Dennie’s cheeks pinken bashfully. “Yeah, it is.”

“What about you?” Dennie probes, trading another sip of wine. She smirks through the burn. “Bet you didn’t think you’d see my mug again.”

“Are you kidding? That was probably the second-best thing to happen to me this year, Dennie.”

Dennie’s smirk deflates. “Only the second? What’s the first?”

When Rose’s eyes flit towards her best friend, Dennie hums her understanding. “Ah. Bill, of  _ course _ .” She sits back in her seat, pouting. “Can’t believe you put Bill in front of me.”

“ _ Dennie _ .”

“No, it’s fine. I get it. All those years of friendship didn’t mean anything, apparently,” Dennie mumbles, but she’s grinning. 

When Rose simply rolls her eyes and steals the wine bottle back, Dennie waggles her brows in suggestion. “How are things, anyway? With Bill?” 

“It’s good. Really good. It’s — it’s strange, really.”

Dennie’s brow knits. “Getting mixed signals here, Rose.”

“No, wait — not in a bad way. In a good way. Promise.” Rose laughs. “I mean it’s strange because it’s so  _ easy _ . I thought it would be harder than this, but — it just works, Dennie. We work.”

Toying with the edge of her mustard yellow blanket, Dennie smiles to herself. 

It feels like deja vu; not so long ago it had been Dennie herself conversing about the simplicity of loving Yaz; of dealing with the sure might of her feelings. 

When she looks at Rose, she finds the same dusting of tentative love and awe in her eyes she recognises from her bedroom mirror almost a year prior. 

Dennie drops her voice to a whisper. “D’you love her?”

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, Rose beams with her whole face. 

Dennie thinks that’s enough of an answer. 

“Don’t say anything to her,” Rose pleads quietly, finishing off the wine in a healthy chug. 

“I won’t. I promise.” Dennie grins at her; an infected victim of Rose’s sudden giddiness. She gives her a one-armed hug and coos into her shoulder. “Look at you; all pink and yellow.”

“ _ You  _ can talk, mate,” Rose retorts, dropping an arm to lock her in place against her side until she can only just wriggle free. “Yaz only has to take one look at you and you turn into a pile of mush.” 

“I do  _ not _ .” 

“No? Alright, let me prove it.” Rose sits up, settling her empty bottle aside so she can whistle between two fingers. “Oi, Yaz!”

Yaz’s attention diverts from her laptop screen to the pair of blondes in an instant. 

It takes less than a second for her gaze to meet Dennie’s, and even less for the blonde to tuck her knees to her chest and grin, butterflies swarming south of her ribs. 

“Everythin’ okay?” Yaz poses in mild concern for Dennie’s red cheeks and whiny grumble.

“All good,” Rose snickers. “Just wanted to make a point.”

When Yaz turns back, Rose pats the top of Dennie’s head. “Bless.” 

* * *

“I  _ told  _ you to take it easy on the squats and the cartwheels and — whatever the hell other things you were doing earlier, babe,” Yaz reprimands half a bottle of cider later, forcing Dennie’s lungs to cinch around a protest and her gaze to avert like a puppy caught with its head buried in a bag of biscuits.

Wilting with a guilty frown, Dennie sinks into Yaz’s side and allows her to soothe her aching limb beneath the blanket. “It felt okay earlier.”

“Alright,” Yaz sighs, obviously reminded of the incident again if the goosebumps dotting her exposed wrist are anything to go by. “You’re off the hook.”

Fingers spanning jeans hugging her thigh, Yaz kneads gently in the exact motion her physio had requested. 

For some reason, only Yaz’s hands ever work to ease the dull throb gracing the surface of her scar. No matter how many stretches and exercises she tries, it always comes back to Yaz and her magic touch. 

A pair of cool lips meet her temple and, coiling both arms around one of Yaz’s, Dennie settles her head against her shoulder with a contented hum. 

At the other side of the fire pit, wrapped up in her girlfriend’s lazy hold, Bill laughs at something Rose whispers into her ear. 

Before them, the sun kisses the horizon and casts the city below in a red-orange glow. 

It’s times like these that Dennie wishes she could bottle up and dip into in ten years' time. Evenings doused in alcohol and sun and Bill’s occasional insults play like an old film reel, but Yaz’s tender, grounding touch brings her back in hook line and sinker. 

Reaching across her fiance for the camcorder sat at her side, she presses record and turns it toward the balcony. 

She slips from her hold after that. Motioning for Yaz to follow, she pads to the edge of the balcony and waits for Yaz’s arms to reunite with her waist. 

Bill is too far away for Dennie to take much notice of her retching sounds. 

“What’s this about?” Yaz murmurs, voice lowered in respect to the glowing sky. 

“Wanted something to look back on,” Dennie replies, looping her arms around her neck. When Yaz frowns in question, she nods towards the camera recording from afar. “Or is this too much? I know you don’t always like being in front of the cam—” 

“You wanted something to look back on, huh?” Yaz interrupts to put an effective end to her over-employed tongue. She lifts a hand from her waist to tip her chin up, eyes glistening with mirth. “Wanna make it a good one?”

Knees weak, Dennie can only do two things; give in to a beaming grin and lean into her touch until it greets similarly smiling lips. 

To Rose’s whooping and Bill’s pained groans, Yaz reduces her to soft, huffing breaths and somersaulting stomach muscles in seconds. 

“I love you so much,” Dennie breathes when they break apart to drink each other in afresh.

It is said as a proclamation, but also a promise. When Yaz strokes her thumb under her eye and along her cheekbone, Dennie kisses the inside of her wrist. Another promise. 

Yaz’s parted lips meet the crease between her brows. “I love you, too, Dennie.”

Turning to admire the last whispers of red on the horizon, Dennie submits to the sensation of belonging; of life at its peak but also just beginning; a higher plain within touching distance. 

And with a traded smile and a bashful laugh, she thinks Yaz might sense it too. 

* * *

With renewed confidence and a winning smile, Dennie’s newest sibling, Luke, serves as the page boy at their wedding. He helps her back up when Dennie’s jelly legs trip up on the way to the altar alongside her mother, and drowns them both in confetti on the way out of the same re-decorated building in which Dennie had almost met her fate a year prior.

The traditional burgundy lehenga Yaz had worn for their previous nikah ceremony is switched up for their second official wedding. Dressed up in respective, crisp black and white suits, they dance, laugh, and drink their way through the night and into the morning. 

Their honeymoon is the first holiday they’ve taken without a camcorder and a constant stream of videos. It’s strange to begin with, but when Dennie realises that fewer videos equates to more time spent lathering her wife —  _ wife _ (!) in attention, she can’t find it in herself to complain. 

* * *

_ Six years later.  _

“Dennie? Babe, c’mon! We’re going to be late.”

“Sorry!” Stumbling down the stairs in her favourite culotte-and-braces compilation, Dennie skips the last two and lands with a grunt. “Ollie peed on my favourite socks.” 

“ _ Ollie _ ,” Yaz berates the red setter lazing on their purple couch in innocent ignorance. “You better behave while we’re out, alright? We won’t be long.” 

Dennie’s heart drops. “But I thought we were goin’ together—” 

“Babe, I were talking to the dog.” 

“Oh! Phew.”

“C’mon, pup.” 

“Was that —”

“Yep, that’s you, babe. Now, get in the van.” 

Replaced with a newer version of herself, the TARDIS is a smooth drive into the city. 

Not so smooth, however, is the rate at which Yaz’s knee bounces beside her while Dennie cruises along the streets. 

Dropping a hand from the veneer steering wheel, Dennie relocates it to her wife’s trembling thigh. It stills in an instant. “Breathe.”

“Sorry,” Yaz murmurs, throat bobbing with the weight of a heavy, anxiety-ridden swallow. “Just nervous.”

“Today’s just a tester, babe. We’re just meeting some of the kids and having a chat,” Dennie supplies, eyes flitting between the road ahead and Yaz’s tense expression. “There’s no pressure. The agency told us that, remember? Today’s just a simple meet and greet.”

“But what if none of them like us? What if I can’t connect with them?”

“ _ Yaz _ ,” Dennie murmurs softly, squeezing her knee. “They’re kids, not millions of  _ Bill’s _ .”

The latter gets a huff of amusement out of her, but anxiety still rolls off Yaz’s form in waves. 

“Babe, if they didn’t think we were up to this, we wouldn’t have even got to this stage. And as for the connection — it takes time. We know that.  _ I  _ know that, but it doesn’t mean they’re going to hate us. Just — just be natural, like you’re chatting to a new mate. They’ll run with it.

And if y’ask me, babe, you’re going to be a natural. Just take it easy on yourself. Y’were brilliant with Luke when he were struggling at the beginning, remember? So cut yourself some slack, alright?”

Slipping trembling fingers through Dennie’s, Yaz takes a steadying inhale. “Thanks.”

Dennie squeezes her hand before lifting it to her lips. Pressing a kiss to her wedding band, she reiterates her constant promise; the basis of her vows. “I’ll be at your side the whole time, Yaz.”

* * *

The sound of chatter and laughter and delighted squeals echoes along the corridor when Yaz and Dennie approach the main desk. 

Upon an eager introduction on Dennie’s side and the collection of two visitor passes, the pair are guided through the hall to a spacious communal room filled with toys, paint stands, a soft play area and a sandpit. 

A sizeable group varying from toddlers to six-year-olds run riot, watched over and supported by a handful of care workers. 

Before they enter, Yaz freezes up, and like second nature, Dennie turns to her with a patient turn of her lips. “Remember what I said in the car, babe? And on our wedding day?”

Yaz’s lip is freed from its toothy captor and she clears her throat. “You’re always at my side.”

“Correct. And you want this, too, right?”

“More than anything.”

Dennie grins, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her hand is tight within Yaz’s hold. “C’mon, then. Let’s take that leap of faith, yeah?”

After allowing her wife a moment to steal herself, Dennie nudges open the door and steps inside. 

Whatever worries Yaz might have had are diminished the second they enter the room. Immediately, she’s dragged away by a handful of youngsters to join their dress-up antics, leaving Dennie to introduce herself to the staff and wave politely to those who turn her way. 

She’s mid-conversation when she feels small hands find her calf and hears a giggle rise from beside her. 

Glancing down, she meets the large brown eyes of a little boy. He can’t be much older than four, dressed in a yellow t-shirt and a pair of chinos. His top compliments the brown tone of his skin and the similar mop of curly hair atop his head. 

“Hiya, mate,” she greets, crouching to his level. “What’s your name?”

“Arlo,” he replies politely. As soon as they reach the same height, however, the boy breaks into a wide, beaming smile and points to her mustard braces. “Why are you wearing a seatbelt?”

Unable to react with much else, Dennie laughs. “This isn’t a seatbelt, sweetheart. It’s — uh — actually, d’you want me to tell you a secret?”

“A secret?” Arlo repeats in a whisper. “Yes, please.”

Dennie arches her fingers around her mouth to hide their whispered conversation from conspirators. “They’re actually part of a jet pack, but I don’t have it with me right now.” 

Arlo’s innocent eyes widen and his grin broadens to an impossible degree. “You can fly?”

“Well, I’m still trialling it at the minute, and I have to use a trampoline, too, but in the future, perhaps?” 

The four-year-old hums his consideration of her statement before eyeing her blue striped socks. “Why’s there a hole in your sock?”

“Oh, yeah. I hadn’t noticed that. Good eye, Arlo.” Dennie checks over the tiny hole with a frown. “I think Ollie is responsible for this.”

“Who’s Ollie?” 

“He’s my dog. D’you like dogs, Arlo?”

A confident nod ruffles Arlo’s glossy, curly locks. Dennie’s heart soars. “I love dogs,” he answers proudly. “So does Frankie.”

“Brilliant! And who’s Frankie? Is she here with you?”

  
  


When he points, Dennie follows his finger to the brown-haired girl perched half-way into Yaz’s lap with a makeup brush in hand. She spots the similarities from a mile off, even if Arlo is an inch or so shorter. 

“Is Frankie your twin sister, Arlo?”

“Yes,” he confirms with confidence, but his attention switches to the empty sandpit in the corner in an instant. Reaching for Dennie’s hand, he beats her wife’s puppy dog eyes to the post. “Come and play in the sand?”

_ “Definitely _ ,” Dennie enthuses. “I love sand, me. You better get ready for the biggest sandcastle of them all, buddy.”

* * *

“Babe, they never warned me I’d want to adopt  _ all _ of them,” Yaz admits as she finds her way back with a fresh layer of red powder on her cheeks half an hour later. The children are taking a break to have a snack from the food on offer, so it’s easier for them to converse and check in.

Dennie reaches between them to dab at the thickly applied makeup with a teasing smirk. “Nice look, Yaz. Very bold.”

“Shut up,” she grumbles quietly so the children around her don’t take notice. “I saw you with that little boy. He seemed to take to you right away. Especially when you created that monster castle.”

“He’s brilliant,” Dennie croons, pressing her hands together and raising them to her mouth. She grins when Arlo waves from the round table in the corner, crumbs dusting his mouth from the melting chocolate biscuit in his hands. “I really like him, Yaz.”

“I know that face,” Yaz answers with an element of surprise, her own gaze lingering on Arlo’s other half. “It’s the same face you made when we met Ollie for the first time, and when you saw the new house that first day.” 

“Have you come to any decisions?” Dennie prompts quietly; hopefully. If the way her heart clenches at the thought of ignoring what it tells her says anything, she doesn’t know if she really wants an answer. 

Yaz’s lips twist and her arms fold over her chest in consideration. When she looks her way again, Dennie can read her with ease. 

“Frankie,” she confesses, and Dennie’s chest swells with something akin to relief. 

“Maybe I could play with Arlo for a bit, see what he’s like,” Yaz proposes softly, but her eye wanders back to Frankie’s space at a far table. “Sorry, babe.”

“Yaz,” Dennie chuckles, touching a hand to her wife’s shoulder. “They’re twins. Can’t you tell?”

“Oh.” Skittish, Yaz looks between the pair of them, realisation dawning. “ _ Oh _ . Of  _ course _ .” By the time she turns to Dennie, she’s grinning. “Wait, does that mean —” 

“I mean — we’d best see what the rest are like, but — d’you think we could —” Dennie stammers, overcome with a foreign emotion. Something maternal, perhaps? “Could we handle two, if it came to it?” 

“It could be hard, and we’d have to make up the third bedroom, but — well, d’you think we could?”

“I think so, yeah. Never given up on anything before, have we?”

“You’re right.” Yaz’s wide eyes remind her of the polite little boy grinning her way. 

Dennie reaches for Yaz’s hand and squeezes tight to retain her squeal of delight. “So that’s a yes?”

Yaz’s grin is infectious; she glows with its magnitude. “Let’s not jump in right away, but yes. I reckon we could.” 

* * *

_ One month later _ . 

“Welcome to your new home, guys,” Dennie announces in the double-doorway to their modern detached house; a purchase made by the pair only two years prior when a skyrise apartment with two bedrooms didn’t seem the place to settle down. On the plus side, they also have a large garden to themselves and, now, to share with their two new additions. 

As soon as the door clicks shut beside them, Yaz jogs forward to halt Ollie’s eager greetings. But she needn’t worry, apparently, when Arlo springs forth to receive a handful of enthusiastic licks to the face. 

Frankie is a little more tentative, but as soon as Ollie calms a fraction, she approaches with a palm raised in offering. 

Doused in friendly laps of the dog’s tongue until both youngsters are sprawled on the floor with echoing laughter and Ollie’s full attention, Dennie and Yaz exchange teary grins. 

“You ready for this?” Dennie whispers, setting Arlo’s suitcase down in favour of offering her wife; the love of her life; the newly appointed mother of their children, her loyal hand. 

Wiping a dampened cheek, Yaz nods. 

“With you, I think I could handle anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! kudos and comments are what i live off so if u have the time please lmk what you thought!!! 
> 
> my tumblr is i-hate-empty-pockets if you're interested x


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